#its like silver and belial all over again

[ryn-halo26]

"Uriel, do you know who put this flower crown on me?" "Yael did, while you were taking a nap, I even got a picture if you wanna see it."

@another-lost-mc if Belial gets to have Silver to take care of, so does Gabriel (and Uriel).

Bonus Dialogue

Gabriel: Huh, didn't know she could act her age

Uriel: I'm more surprised she didn't wake you up

More on Yael

[another-lost-mc]

can we get little. fun facts. about the OCs? like silly or weird things they do and stuff :3

This got a little long since they're all here.

Azra:

He has beautiful penmanship and still writes and speaks in Scripture from time to time (sometimes to annoy Zee, sometimes to insult Lucifer, sometimes when he feels nostalgic)

He likes riding his motorcycle more than driving because it reminds him of what it felt like to fly

Zee:

His favourite thing about visiting the human world is getting fast food milkshakes (usually strawberry)

He plays the violin and keeps one in his office at The Fall so he can play when he gets bored or stressed

Karasu:

Mammon and Asmo have tried to convince him to try modeling in the past, but he refused

He listens to ASMR videos when he works or has trouble sleeping

Tenebris:

He loves animals but he’s never had a pet before (he would love a cat one day)

He’s ambidextrous but still prefers using his right hand for writing and casting spells

Diavolo’s private beach is one of his favourite vacation spots

Belial:

He has a belly button piercing (from his time as an angel)

He doesn’t drink Demonus but he loves mixing and creating his own mocktails inspired by the human world (he usually makes his own drinks behind the bar at The Fall while Zee glares at him from across the room because he's not allowed to do that)

He loves cars in general but he doesn’t like to drive very much. He prefers to fly or to ride his horses (he rides his chariot when he feels especially dramatic)

He owns several properties in the human world and goes on vacation there when he needs time to himself

Bathin:

When his parents and brother are invited to grown-up parties or dinners, he takes it very personally that he wasn't invited too. He's very good at sneaking past his babysitters and breaking into whatever upscale restaurant or private estate the party's being hosted at

Meta:

He's a published author (using different pseudonyms) for various genres including poetry, fiction, and romance/erotica

He taught himself how to swim and spends a lot of his free time swimming in one of the Celestial Realm's great lakes, usually in the morning if he didn't sleep well the night before

He started reading manga and follows Levi’s blog for reviews and recommendations

Seraphiel:

He’s fond of colouring books and puzzles

He knows how to drive in the human world. He tried to teach Meta how to drive when Meta asked (never again)

Gabriel:

He prefers wearing dark clothing and silver-toned jewelry. He doesn't wear black often in the Celestial Realm but its one of his favourite colours to wear when he has business to run in the human world

He’s one of the angels with the most varied reputations depending who you ask: “He’s scary” “He’s hilarious” “He’s so romantic” (that last one is usually Michael gushing over something Gabriel is planning as a surprise for Uriel)

Uriel:

He doesn’t play sports or gamble because he’s a bit of a sore loser

He wants to learn how to ride a motorcycle

He's a bit shy when it comes to PDA, except if he's had a bit too much to drink (or if he has some irrational feelings of jealousy/possessiveness)

Habuhiah:

She doesn’t have any pets but she talks to the plants and flowers in the Celestial gardens

She curses a lot when she’s angry or frustrated. Not drastically so, but angels that don't spend much time with her would be surprised. Like, there might be the metallic clink of a fork dropping to the ground during dinner, followed by a hushed, "Damn it!" as she ducks under the table to pick it up

[wowieweirdwarlock]

Best Bosses: Belial, the Pale Kiss.

Archdevil of adultery, deception, and desire.

Source: The Book of The Damned

Image source: The Book of The Damned, pg. 35.

“Do what you will: such is all that impassioned Belial demands of their followers. Along with the titles given them by mortals— the Pale Kiss, Thorned Caress, Duke of Many Forms— the Lord of the Fourth goes by a number of aliases, but Their variety of names merely suggests the diversity of their form, as few beings in the multiverse can match Belial as a seducer, creator, and deceiver.”

In antiquity, the forces of Hell, headed by Asmodeus, sought to create a being so beautiful it could outshine all others in existence. The first draft of this being was gifted perfect malleability of form, and would constantly shift to meet the desires of whoever beheld it.

The result of this experiment was a horrific mass of ever-changing flesh and radiance. This monstrosity was quickly locked away, and the project began again. This time, not only was the being gifted shapeshifting prowess and control over its form, but a silver tongue and charismatic mind so it could root out the desires of those is encountered.

This being became known as Belial, and rose to power as the Archdevil of the Fourth layer of Hell.

Manipulative and Imaginitive. The Pale Kiss one of the most creative beings in Hell, commanding endless respect through manipulation and intrigue. Belial possesses an undeniable dramatic streak, which reflects in their machinations, yet they do not care much for anything they create.

Infernal Creator. Many inventions in hell can be traced back to The Lord of The Fourth. Perverse magics, deadly weaponry, and powerful half-breeds alike are all left in Their wake. They serve as forgemaster of Phlegthon, although they care little for such coarse work, preferring to let their agents and slaves bring their designs to fruition. Recently, they have become curious about their own genesis, looking to somehow create a being of a similar nature to themself, despite these experiments being forbidden by the Lord of Hell.

Desire Incarnate. Fittingly for their design, Belial is a being of unending carnality. They are obsessed with aesthetics, constantly shifting their form to fit whatever whims they have at the moment. They constantly seek out beings to entice and manipulate, and have sired the most half-fiends out of every devil in Hell.

Hedonistic Cult. The Thorned Caress is worshipped by all manner of beings; Jilted lovers, forlorn artists, the ugly and beautiful alike vie for Their blessing. Lonely worshippers pray for inspiration, while aging mortals curse the young and gorgeous in Belial’s name.

Phlegethon, the Fourth Layer of Hell:

The fourth layer of Hell, Phlegethon, mimics the battles between Heaven and Hell through its extremes. It is a massive open mine clawing through a mountain expanse stretching the entirety of the plane. The entirety of this layer slopes downwards, with the Archdevil Belial’s golden palace rising up from the crater in the center.

Flensing Cliffs. Every step in Phlegethon is a risk. Attempting to claw up the mountainsides risks punishment from Belial’s taskmasters, and descent can send one tumbling onto the jagged peaks and rusted spikes sticking out from the mines below. At the Avis of the plane, the forges of Hell rise up like massive screws stabbing into the ground below. Golden bridges and citadels, larger than any mortal kingdom, span the gaps between these towers, like the webs of giant leaden spiders. From these intimidating spires rings the sounds of cruel weaponry being forged and the Archdevil’s playthings being tortured.

Betrayer’s Hell. All throughout the slopes of Phlegethon, the souls of hedonists, deceivers, and the spiteful scrape away at the earth with raw fingers, constantly scrabbling to dig up metals and jewels for their devil overlords. The useless scraps most souls find and sent in a flensing rain to the bottom of the cliffs, tormenting those below. Scattered throughout the rocky planes are massive stone castles, the homes of infernal dukes serving Belial.

Idolisque. This gorgeous golden citadel rings out with the screams of Belial’s victims and lovers, although none can tell the difference between either. The Archdevil’s slothful agents look down on the plane from on high, and attend the Pale Kiss’ courts, harems, and fleshwarping experiments excitedly. Occasionally, they will offer the souls below a chance to serve as the Archdevil’s plaything; this offer, which many souls think is a respite from their torments, turns out to be a new Hell with no other offers of escape.

Ideas for using Belial in your campaign:

Local beauties are turning up aged, fleshwarped, and insane. A nearby duchess has turned to worshipping Belial, and is calling upon Them to steal youth from rivals, sending them back out into the world as twisted monstrosities.

If any member of the party is of fiendish descent, Belial could be involved in their genesis. The Thorned Caress always seeks to spawn new and interesting half-breeds.

A member of the party wakes from a long rest with a strange cosmetic mutation. They have been marked by a cultist of Belial, who aims to “perfect” them through fleshwarping.

The Lord of The Fourth is one of the most unique Archdevils, both in terms of Their creation and their machinations on the material plane.

Aside from the power and status that comes from ruling one of the layers of Hell, Belial is blessed with one of the strongest and most creative imaginations in Hell. They are constantly thinking up new designs for weapons and schemes for their agents to bring into being.

Along with their inventions, Belial is well-known for leaving whole bloodlines of half-fiends, tieflings, and Cambions in their wake. Due to their incredible flexibility of form, they can spawn a myriad of beings into existence, which serves as a boon for the forces of Hell.

Always be aware of The Pale Kiss’ machinations. Their worshippers are beauty-obsessed sadists hellbent on their own perfection and pleasure.

- A Weird Warlock.

[r4bbitdragon]

P-BANDAI PAIR RINGS: RANKED (part 2)

back in the saddle. and they start getting more frequent from here too, lots to get through. part one here.

10. gochase ring- 7.75/10

starting off with something really different! way more of a chunky, masculine style here. it’s not my personal style, but i find myself really respecting it anyways. the rings look like they’d be complete separately as well, which isn’t something all these sets hit. i dunno, i know opinions vary wildly on these two as a duo, but i find these rings to be a very solid set.

11. specter necrom set- 4/10

these are Just Two Logos (just two logos)

12. gaijug rings- 5/10

oh hey, yeah, they don’t only do rings for rider! starting off with this set from ultraman orb.

...hm, yeah, im torn on this one. they link together in a really nice way...! but something about the enamel used drags the visuals down for me. Almost.

13. emu parad rings- 4.5/10

wow! exaid time! exaid has the most sets for any series so far, actually. starting off with one of the most obvious duos to get one. (if you share a body, you should share a ring set. wheres the nakifuwa rings.)

its a shame, though, then, despite me liking the interlock, im not fond of too much else about these. gold and rose gold just... dont mix very well. there’s a little too much engraving over all, it makes them look too busy as a set... but both would be a little plain worn individually. Eh.

14. ex-aid lazer rings- 6.25/10

Just Two Logos. but is there not something, videogame-y about that? well, honestly, even having not watched exaid ive heard enough secondhand about these two to know they’re a very charming duo. bumps them up a little!

15. genm poppy rings- 0/10

ew. no.

16. bn thieves rings- 6.5/10

oh, hey, and our first sentai rings! these try to play a little coy with being just two logos with the snake’s tail hiding under the scales but... yeah, yeah. that’s just what they are.

still, gold and silver always look nice together, and these two represent a really fun duo! so, you know what, they’re pretty alright :)

17. geed and belial rings- 8/10

or, like, they might just both be geed rings, representing his light and dark heritage? idk.

no, i’m pretty fond of these! very much a set where one ring is the star and the other is just an accessory, but it works. good set as stealth merch, probably not going to instantly clock this as a color timer unless you already know.

funnily enough, while these look good together, i think my favorite picture of them is where the model wears them separately on fingers next to each other instead.

18. cross-zbuild rings- 10/10

oh Absolutely capping this part off here. this is the set with a Legacy, it’s after this set did so well that pbandai started coming out with All the other sets i’ve ranked. started it all!

and like. look. I Am Biased. this is the only set i Actually Own, after all. but still. These Slap. Very Strong duo to base it off of- again, the bodyshare principal- and exemplify the interlock mechanic So well from the start by coming together to form one picture. and they’re silver and gold! color combo that always rules!

could Not have started all these off on a better note. everyone say thank you cross-zbuild rings

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XXVII

At some point, Lucie must have fallen asleep lying atop of the dusty blankets with the canopy swaying over her head and the sound of the wind blowing outside. She’d woken with a start at the groan of the door on its hinges and Belial standing at the foot of the bed.

The color had returned to his face, his hair was neatly combed back, dark like his eyes, and the velvet exterior of his coat and matching trousers. He fiddled with the silver cuff links on his wrists and grinned a Cheshire smile.

“You look well-rested,” said Lucie, fixing her wrinkled skirts. “I suppose it’s time then.”

“Are you ready?” he asked.

“Does it matter if I am or not?” said Lucie, standing up from the bed and walking towards him, all while doing her best not to show any ounce of fear.

Belial’s eyes flickered over her face. “Follow me, please.” He turned on his heels and started down the hallway. After a moment and a few deep breaths, Lucie set out after him.

“For this to work, I need you to surrender wholly and completely to me,” said Belial as they walked. He turned to the left where another dark staircase ascended. The fact that he didn’t just snap his fingers or grab Lucie and appear in the room they were headed towards told Lucie that perhaps he was preserving his strength. Holding every last bit of it for whatever it was that he planned to do with her, this convergence or joining that he planned.

In truth, she’d been reserving as much strength as she could as well. She still wasn’t sure exactly how her plan would work, but somehow, it had to. From reading books of old, the legends, and the myths that her father and mother would bring to life, she recalled the gallant heroes in their times of desperation and their times of absolute weakness and what they would cling to. If only she could talk to her parents one more time if only she could hear their words of wisdom and listen to it for once. If only she could fold herself into their embrace and absorb their strength which they’d always given to their children so freely.

What would they say to her? What tether would they offer her? What could she say back to them?

I’m sorry I never told you, she thought. I was ashamed and I didn’t want it to be one more thing that mother had to feel guilty of or papa to feel he needed to protect.

They’d forgive her, she knew they would. Perhaps there would be time for forgiveness. Yes, she had to believe that she’d see them again.

They came to a door at the end of the winding staircase which opened on its own upon Belial’s presence. The room was empty of furniture and the roof looked the inside of a lighthouse with windows circling the perimeter. The blood-red sky leaked into the room illuminated the dust particles in the air. In the center of the room, carved into the black wood, were two circles overlapping so there were two sides and a sliver in the middle.

Fear gripped her throat and settled into her stomach like a stone. Tears sprang to her eyes as she bit down on her lip to keep it from trembling.

“Don’t be afraid, child,” said Belial. “It will all be over soon. I will have your body to occupy the world as I wish, and you will be a distant shadow, completely unaware, tucked away like a memory long forgotten.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I am going to take back what was taken from me a long time ago,” said Belial, and his hands drew into fists at his sides. “Come, the time is near.”

“My family,” said Lucie, as the tears spilled from her eyes. “What will you do with my family?”

“All the Nephilim must die, unfortunately,” said Belial. “Save for your mother and brother who have a spark of my blood still alive in their veins. I’ll offer them a chance to reign by my side.”

“They’ll never do it,” said Lucie. “They’ll fight you to their death.”

Belial grinned as he stood in the center of the left circle. “I wouldn’t be so sure. For fighting me means that they’ll be fighting you and while we are tethered, my death means your death. One cannot live without the other and so one shall not die without the other. If they believe that there is even just a breath of a chance that you are still alive, they’ll do whatever it takes to free you. But they won’t be able to.”

Lucie moved back a step towards the door. “And if I don’t, if I refuse?”

“I will kill your precious Cordelia,” said Belial. “You see when she was with me, I reached into her mind and took away her memories so that she wouldn’t remember that I injected her bloodstream with an undetectable poison that responds to my command and my command only. With just a snap of my fingers, Cordelia will be dead. Would you like for me to demonstrate?” With a wave of his hand, a picture appeared in a cloud of smoke of Cordelia sitting in the drawing-room of the estate with James beside her. They were staring at the fire together, hand entwined. The image zoomed into Cordelia her eyes red-rimmed and solemn.

“No,” cried Lucie. “No, please don’t. I don’t need a demonstration.”

Belial sneered and flicked his wrist.

Cordelia’s head snapped back, her mouth open as she gaped at the ceiling for air. James lunged from the sofa to crouch over her, holding her face in his hands. Cordelia’s face began to turn bright red as foam spilled from her lips.

“STOP!” cried Lucie. “STOP IT, PLEASE!”

“You won’t question me anymore?”

Lucie watched as James cried for someone to come help and Cordelia’s body began to convulse.

“It won’t just stop at Cordelia,” said Belial. “For every time that you deny me, I will make someone you love suffer. Say it and Cordelia and James can have their final moments together in peace or she can continue to suffer.”

“Stop!” begged Lucie. “I’ll listen, I’ll behave. I’ll do what you say, just please, don’t kill her.”

The image disappeared with another wave of Belial’s hand. “What does it matter if she dies now or later?”

Lucie shook with rage. She thought she felt the cool whisper of something brush up against her hand, across her palm, but she was too furious to notice.

And then she thought of it, what the ghost might have been trying to say. It seemed so obvious all of a sudden, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t thought of it before. Perhaps because it was what she feared most of all.

She might not be able to defeat Belial in battle, but she could stop him. She could take away the one thing he needed to enact his plan.

She could remove herself.

But with what and how? She was out of time and with no weapons. There wasn’t even a nail she could pull out from the floorboards and all of her hairpins had spilled out at the Lightwood’s. She had nothing except the windows. The closest one to her was six feet to her left. There might be enough time for her to run and crash through the glass and fall to her death before Belial caught her. She feared what he might do as punishment if she didn’t make it, however.

You know what to do, a voice whispered in her mind.

I don’t, she thought. I don’t know what to do. Please help me.

The voice went quiet again and Lucie almost screamed in rage.

“Come,” said Belial and stepped into the center of the two circles.

Lucie gasped as she pulled by an invisible hand towards the center of the room. She tried to drag her feet but the force was too strong. Her heels scraped across the floor as she dragged and deposited in front of Belial.

“I’ve waited a long time for you, Lucie,” said Belial and picked up her hands in his. “It’s almost over. You won’t remember a thing, I promise. You must step willingly into the center of the circle. It won’t work unless you do.”

Tears poured unabridged from Lucie’s eyes. She slammed them shut and pictured her mother, gray eyes, and mousy brown hair. 

Her Da with the same mischievous grin as her own. 

James and his stupid face, the first friend she’d ever known.

Cordelia, a friend, and a sister.

She thought of Jesse and all the things she never got to tell him. She wished she could have told him how she truly felt even if he didn’t feel the same.

Fight, Lucie, rang the voice again. You must fight.

She opened her eyes and stepped forward.

(A/N: As promised, part XXVII for your reading pleasure. Next chapter is coming out on Sunday 1/24. Possibly the finale, there might be one more. We shall see how much I get done. As always, thank you so much for reading, commenting, liking, and reblogging. You guys are simply the best.)

[icharchivist]

Two thoughts on that Babu-oneesan FE:

1. Another game I play has a seventh Element, Space, that confused me when I first started playing. I suggest maybe Space can be the seventh, or perhaps 'null' (no element) can be considered an 'element'?

2. I seem to remember the song that is tied with Bahamut, (dark silver wings?) the main lyrics are 'rebirth and destruction' and it mentions 'shattering the sky'. 'The ashes and ruin' will be recreated for an age of evolution.

I'm not 100% on it but that sounds like the world has been restarted over and over again, with maybe key players being reborn in the in-between? Maybe that's why Danchou has a fragment of Adventurer's soul in them? Theories.

Those are such juicy and interesting theories omg thank you for sharing them.

1. This is a fascinating take, and perhaps it's a bit of both, but wow.

A lot of the null elements we meet in game tend to be things that are hard to explain by themselves, if it's not just machines. Bahamut's Impossible raids for exemple, but also things that are available to us mortal, like recently, Excalibur was. A couple Primals can also fit the bill, which could eventually imply that the Astrals still would have had access to the 7th element while regular Mortals wouldn't. If the 7th element is implied to be the Null element, there is groundwork to establish it as this element not accessible to mortals.

For the other game you played having another element called Space, is interesting, and though ofc can't really associate it to gbf this easily, it could actually play some part if, once again, we take the Astrals into consideration, since they are mentioned multiple times as being people from beyond the stars. They're still shrouded by mystery and it's likely they are a creation of Bahamut since two of his speaker were cloned there (... unless the Astrals litterally come from beyond the skies and the clones were there to keep an eye on them? idk about that but i guess it's a possibility).

But yeah my point is that if we can establish a 7th element as something maybe the Skydweller forgot but the Astrals, and maybe even the Otherworld may still possess, then an idea similar to Space could be possible.

At this point i wonder if maybe we may hear more about this 7th element once we reach Eustalucia (.... when we get there...)

Or, maybe, linked to the Otherworld even more? Since the magic of the Otherworld got this distinct because of its separation to the rest of the world and all... And The Trap that was laid on Shalem was set by an Otherworld creature who managed to open its way into this cave, could they perhaps have a connection with the 7th element to allow this to happen?

And, scratching the idea of Astrals all together, if it is an Otherworld-only element that would explain an element that could kill Lucifer, as well as why the Hard Raids for Beelzebub, Belial and Lucilius are all Null Element (if we still think 7th Element = null), since Beelzebub spent a huge part of his life in the Otherworld, Lucilius was doing researches on the Otherworld's power, and Belial's raid is based on those specific memories and, since it has him turn into Avatar Belial, would imply that he has taken in the power of Lucilius's researches as well.

Ofc just throwing ideas at the wall and sees what sticks but i could see null being the 7th element. Also actually now that i think about it that would explain why there are 7 True dragons and one of them, Lindwund, is null element, while the dragons are supposed to be extremely important to the balance of the world and its true power.

... Keeping an eye out on the Dragon event coming out soon to see if they'd mention it.

So yeah if null, i'd see Lindwund still being the carrier and representent of that element, and it being perhaps preserved by magic the Astrals still use and/or one that was left behind in the Otherworld.

2. You are totally correct. I could totally see it being an idea of a world that keeps being recreated and destroyed over and over again. (though i'd be hella amused by that because i'm starting to sense a patern in a lot of the fictions i end up really obsessing over, who knew)

The idea of MC being the Singularity because they're a reincarnation of the soul of the Adventurer that set all the Destruction into motion... perhaps it will be a way to figure out if MC is set to "Rebirth" or "Destruction".

after all Beelzebub is called a Singularity too and he's Shalem's clone, and he was set on a path of Destruction while Shalem was set to protect the world. if Lucilius count as a Singularity as well, in fact, we have a trio here of possible "reincarnation"

with Sahar/Shalem protecting the world, and the Adventurer setting its destruction, whenever it was on purpose or not

and their "clones" or "reincarnation", Lucilius/Beelzebub setting on destroying the world, while MC has been acting to protect it as much as possible.

I could totally see an idea of loop and key players coming back after each destruction and rebirth. That's a chilling story though, because if the others Singularities are anything to get by, we know Lucilius and Beelzebub had dreams related to Sahar and Shalem. Imagine if there's a plot having MC connect to the memories of the Adventurer for good? That'd be terrifying.

Man this is really fascinating i love it, thank you for sharing those with me. It makes me so exited about this plot tbh!!! God i really hope we'll get an event again one day!

Thank you again!

[polin-erospsyche]

My Angel, Please Let Me Down Slowly - a Jordelia fanfic

Sidenote: I don’t really know what to say apart for that I had this idea for a fanfiction and for some reason I decided to write it and then I decided to share it. Like we say: if nothing is ventured, nothing is gained right? I have never felt so vulnerable on this hellsite before because fanfic is not what I really do and I certainly have never shared my writing before. I tried to make this as close to the character as I could, I’m sure you’ll find that there are mistakes here and there. It also ended up being much longer than I thought it would be, I ramble a lot who is suprised?  I hope you’ll read it and that you’ll enjoy, I certainly had fun writing it. 

“So? How do you feel?” Lucie asked excitedly. James stared at the thin silver band Grace was holding in front of him, seemingly lost in a daze. They stood in the drawing room of the London Institute with Lucie, Will and Tessa hovering, eagerly looking at James to look for any changes after the bracelet had come off.

None of them really knew the exact reason for which Grace had gone against Tatiana Blackthorn and accepted Lucie’s offer to join the London Institute and fight against Belial. Lucie had assured everyone that it was much better if they didn’t know the reason as, in truth, she wanted to keep their plans to bring Jesse back a secret just a little longer. Once on their side, Grace had quickly although reluctantly admitted that James was in fact not genuinely in love with her but was under the spell of the bracelet he wore since he was thirteen. Once she had explained Tatiana’s and Belial’s plan and the bracelet’s function, Will had exclaimed that this was completely unacceptable and that it had to be taken off at once. Everyone had agreed. However, due to the late hour of the night and because James wanted to do it privately, they had all been sent home with the promise that they would be able to come and check on James the following morning. All at the exception of Cordelia who had insisted on staying behind and was currently waiting in the library with Matthew who had decided to keep Cordelia company and wanted to show her an essay written by Oscar Wilde. Being responsible for the bracelet’s charm, Grace was the only who could take it off easily, and so, here there were with the bracelet removed.

“He’s not going to feel very different right away as once the bracelet is off there is still a remnant of the bond.” Grace replied for James. James disagreed, he felt as if he had woken up from a long slumber, and were finally able to breathe normally. He saw the world not through the veiled eyes of a passive body bound to an invisible force but as if he could experience everything around him for himself again. Grace had also lost this ethereal beauty he had found so fascinating. She remained stunning with her angel soft blond hair closing to silver, her frail complexion and her big grey eyes but her beauty suddenly did not make him want to follow her to the end of the world or throw himself in the river Thames. He realized with a sudden jolt that she was talking, to him more specifically, and that he had missed most of it.

“… you’ll be all right and I’m … you … you must know…” she paused, looking unsure. He looked at her with a look between resentment and expectation and wondered what she could possibly want him to know. Was she going to apologize? And if she did, what would he be able to say? “Never mind, we’ll talk soon. When you’ll be feeling more like yourself.”  

“Yes soon, just not right away. I need some time to think and to reflect.” to get away from you James thought. He would not let her know how much he could not stand being in her presence right now, he would be civil. After all she couldn’t really be blamed, she had had no choice but to obey the witch.

“James?” asked Tessa gently “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I assure you.” Looking towards his father he quickly added “Don’t look at me like that papa, you’re making me anxious.”

Will looked as if this was the first time he’d ever truly seen his son and wondered whether to make him stay in bed the next day with ten blankets, a hot cup of tea and the curtains drawn so as not to risk James developing a weird sort of illness.

“I’m sorry Jamie bach, it’s just” he walked closer to James “we are your parents, our job is to worry for you. Are you sure you’re alright? I can call Jem right now if you want me to, I don’t mind.”

“Will!” Tessa chastised.

“It’s not necessary to call Uncle Jem. I just feel a little weird and lighter than usual, which is not so different from the first time Grace took off the bracelet.” James glanced at Grace who intensely stared at the ground as if the cracks in the floorboard was the most interesting thing she had ever seen.

“Well if he’s alright I think we should go and tell Cordelia. I promised her I’d let her know as soon as the whole ordeal was passed. I’m sure she must worry.” Lucie chirped in.

Cordelia. Daisy. Angel. Images came rushing to James, her soft and warm embrace, her tenacity, the smiles she would only reserve for him, and his irrepressible need at times to run his fingers through her auburn hair. And how, at each of these times, he had to force himself not to do it as he would never have let himself cross that line. He owed Cordelia, who had given her reputation to save him, not to lead her on. And although they had eventually, after five months of pretence, reached a place where they were comfortable around each other and started to share inside jokes, their engagement was still a sham and he would not pretend that there was something there when there wasn’t. But was that true? Hadn’t he told her that he had never wanted anything more than to kiss her when they were in the Whispering Room? And, unknown to Cordelia, that desire had never really went away even after Grace had put the bracelet back onto his wrist. He didn’t know exactly how he felt about Cordelia but he knew now, without a shadow of a doubt, that he had never loved Grace.

He had to see Cordelia. He had to explain to her and hope that she would understand and give him a chance. And maybe with just a bit of luck she would not feel indifferent to him and she had and still did share the same desire as him when they shared their first kiss. And they would then be able to figure out their feelings together. He had to go to the library, see her, talk to her.

“I appreciate everyone’s worry, really, and I will let you fuss around me at your heart’s content tomorrow. But Lucie is right, Daisy has been waiting.”

“Great! Let’s go.” Lucie started to walk towards the door but was stopped as James grabbed her elbow.

“No Lucie. Alone. I need to see her alone, please?”

Lucie pouted, feeling as if she was going to miss all the fun, but gestured for him to go. James who needed no more encouragements hastened out of the drawing room and ran down the halls of the Institute.

When he arrived in front of the library doors, he took a moment to steel himself and tried to get a hold of his muddled thoughts. After tonight he might not have to pretend anymore. He might be able to reach for her hand or play with her hair or take her in his arms and kiss her whenever he wished to. Not because he had to go along with a lie but simply because they both wanted to. He took a breath in, reached for the library door, slowly opened it and for the second time that night he froze.

The room was dimly lit by an oil lamp placed on the fireplace mantel but in the far corner he could discern two figures leaned against a bookshelf, clinging to each other, with an open book discarded at their feet. Probably the book Matthew wanted to show Cordelia. The smaller figure let out a soft moan and James shut his eyes. Suddenly the floor under his feet seemed no longer stable. His head and heart were pounding as if he had breathed in to quickly and yet there suddenly seemed like there would never bee enough air for him to breath normally. The energy that had made him almost run to the library was sapped and for a minute his world had lost its direction and a part of him wished he could still be under Grace’s influence.

“Matthew” whispered Cordelia.

James opened his eyes, already adjusting to the darkness of the room, only to see Cordelia staring back at him. Matthew still had his head bend, kissing her neck the way James had done not so long ago, the way he still wanted to do now.

“Matthew, stop.” James wasn’t sure which of them had said it but to his short-lived relief Matthew lifted his head but only to follow Cordelia’s gaze and lend his eyes onto James.

Matthew immediately scrambled into an upright position trying to smooth his hair and clothes out.

“James! Here you are, we were worried. I was just reading a passage from The Decay of Lying.” Said Matthew biting his lower lip, his hair dishevelled, the first few buttons on his waistcoat undone. He was pointing at the book Cordelia had now picked up and clutched in one hand, her other hand hovering at her lips.

“Listen to this and tell me what you think, “What is interesting about people in good Society is the mask that each one of them wears, not the reality that lies behind the mask”.’ Matthew recited, because of course he would have learned by heart Wilde’s writing. How fitting as well that out of all of Wilde’s quotes he had picked one about masks, James thought.

“Riveting.” James let out through a forced smile. “I’m sorry for interrupting your passionate reading, I should have knocked. I just wanted to let you know that Grace took the bracelet off and I knew you were both waiting.”

Matthew’s expression hardened “I told you, didn’t I, that she was not as angelic as she was trying to make you believe. At least now I won’t have to try and prove it and hopefully she will be on her way once we win against Belial and Tatiana.” James didn’t know the reasons but it seemed that recently over the past five months or so Matthew had developed an even more pronounced dislike of Grace. “Anyway,” Matthew’s expression softened “how are you feeling?”

“Everyone has been asking me that.” James sighed. He threw a glance at Cordelia, everyone had been asking except her, she hadn’t said a thing. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning when my head is less foggy. I’ll leave you to whatever it is that you were doing.” And with that James closed the door and left.

He was halfway down the hallway when he heard quick, light footsteps “Wait! James, please, wait. I can explain.” The way she was almost begging him to stop was like shards of glass in his heart, but he kept walking faster.

“It’s not what you think.”

“No?” James stopped abruptly. “It seemed really clear to me what was going on in that room. I assure you I do not need any further explanations.” He was now facing her.

“We were reading …” started Cordelia.

“Reading doesn’t usually include kissing. At least from what I’ve experienced, it doesn’t.” James said with finality.  

Cordelia stared at James not knowing what to say. He was angry and she wasn’t sure he would listen to anything she had to say right now. Then she ventured carefully “Would it make a difference if I told you it wasn’t supposed to happen? You weren’t supposed to see it. We both feel bad, we’re both sorry.” She could barely meet his eyes when she finished.

James slightly shook his head and exhaled “You don’t have to, neither of you owes me an explanation. You’re not bound to me in any way just like I am not bound to you. We’re both free of pursuing any relationships we want. I just never thought of all the men you could possibly have in London you’d go with my parabatai, my Matthew. I feel foolish, I should have known. I’ve seen the way you started to look at Math, the way you act around each other and the way you started to look at each other when you thought no one was watching. Just tell me something, and please answer me honestly, for Matthew’s sake, do you love him?”  

“I don’t know.” She murmured, looking down at her clasped hands, her knuckles almost white.

Her answer knocked the air out of James. He thought that might have been the case, of course he did. He hadn’t lied when he said that he saw Cordelia and Matthew, their relationship had changed ever so gradually. While James was busy trying not to act on his false feelings for Grace and to comprehend why his heart seemed to beat just a little quicker when Cordelia entered a room, she had been busy keeping up a false engagement and falling for his best friend. He just never thought she would admit to it or that he would have to hear it.

Cordelia lifted her head, hoping to erase what she had said, hoping to bring the conversation back to them and not linger on her unclear feelings for Matthew “But the bracelet is off and …”

“And nothing has changed.” Except that everything had, but she didn’t have to know this. More than anything he wanted to see Cordelia happy even if her happiness costed him his. He would rather have cut out his own heart than take away Cordelia’s chance at being in love, so he continued “Daisy, I truly am sorry. I don’t think that either of us were ready for this turn of event but I do think we still need to get married, just to keep your reputation intact. But once this year is up if Matthew makes you happy then I will be happy for you.”

“So you’re not angry? I thought that … I don’t know what I thought. I just thought you would care.” I thought you would be jealous. Cordelia hadn’t kissed Matthew to make James jealous, of course not, but her treacherous heart still hoped he would return her feelings and so, in effect, would be showing signs of jealousy.

“Of course I care! You have become such a dear friend to me. I care for you immensely; you should know that by now. And no, I’m not angry, I’m just surprised. I saw it coming, I just never though it would actually happen.”  

So there it was, she thought, he wasn’t angry or jealous just caught off guard. She had hoped that tonight would turn out so differently. That without the bracelet on he would tell her he loved her. That they would decide that the marriage wouldn’t be a sham but a real one based on love, understanding and trust. Yet, she never felt further from James than at this moment. He hadn’t loved her then; he didn’t love her now. And worst of all she wasn’t even sure how she felt about Matthew. When had things between them started to go so wrong?

“It’s late, I think we both need some rest after every that has happened today. I’ll see you in the morning Cordelia.”

As he started to slowly walk away, she reached for his hand and intertwined her fingers with his.

“I’m so sorry, I wish it could have gone another way.”

“Me too.” Maybe things would have been different if I had told you when we were younger, I just didn’t know it until I saw you with him my angel. James gently pried his fingers away and returning to the silence and darkness of his bedroom.

That night he promised himself that he would stand by Matthew and Cordelia, would smile at their happiness and in time would be able to mend his broken heart. He would not and could not stand in the middle of their happiness because he loved them both beyond words. He came to the resolution that if he could see them both happy with each other than he would have to be content with that.  

[beyondtheciouds]

.29.

Part 1 of 3

Heavy rain descended from the sky swallowing up the last ounce of hope. The black clouds were staggered; swollen red from the heat of the day. The world outside is flipped upside down; black is white; white is black and all is red.

Her head aches with the shift in color; the logic of her accommodations rather painful. She gasps, her throat hoarse and still raw from screaming for hours on end. Tears slide down off the bridge of her nose and she can't close her mouth fast enough. A salt lick of a tear hazardly grazes her tongue; the clear liquid tasting like bottled anguish.

In her mind, she remains back at the Institute with her family. She braces and steadies herself for the worst.

The cold, steel manacle around her neck chokes her and makes it difficult to breathe. Chains, wrapped around her lithe body curl around and over her; tucking her away between their links.

The rusted chains rattle as she moves from left to right in a rhythmic sway; an attempt to crash through the door.

Velocity. Volume. Vantage.

Her nostrils flare with determination then deflate with defeat when her body doesn't pick up immediate speed.

Her long brown hair is loose from it's tight chignon; the ribbon torn in half. Dirty and tangled; the snarls of her hair half drag across the dusty floor of the tin can coffin.

Hanging upside down from the ceiling in her undergarments is Tessa. Her hands are behind her back held together with simple, normal rope. The rope is knotted in several places with sailors knots and elegantly tied to the rope around her feet. Both ropes are linked by a chain that is attached to the manacle around her neck.

Tatiana smiles vicious and hateful watching Tessa struggle. She enjoys the fact she can literally see the blood rushing to her enemy's head in the whites of her eyes. "Moving only makes the blood run quicker."

Tessa grimaces, a wave of dizziness and nausea washing over her. "Now you tell me."

Tatiana smiles that heinous smirk and shrugs. It lasts only a second, but something about the casual confident roll of her bony shoulder reminds Tessa of Gabriel. In the shift of a second, Tessa sees a glimmer of the person Tatiana used to be; a Lightwood-- confident and capable. This was the person Tatiana had been long before Rupert was murdered and her world broken.

Tessa allows the moment to pass; her regret left unsaid to the woman who perhaps could have been if not a friend an ally in another life. The moment clears the way for another idea. Tessa is willing to take a risk. Watching Tatiana closely, she feels she might be able to manipulate Tatiana into releasing her.

The door of the metal shack creaks open, a squeak of a mouse echoes as the bright red light becomes a beacon in the darkness. Ghostly fingers begin their smoky dance; the ghosts beckoning Tessa to join them in the afterlife.

Belial's silhouette becomes visible as the smoke dissapates. He is slouched precariously against the wall. He reminds Tessa of a criminal with his arms crossed over his chest. The red cherry of a cigar is a pulse beating in the dark. Tessa can't take her eyes off it.

"Are you ready to behave, my dear? Or should we continue with the torture?"

Tessa struggles, her fear turning into fury; refocusing. "You will never have James and Lucie at your side no matter what you do to me. You may be their grandfather, Belial but you are not family."

"Oh, love how foolish you are." Nate says and steps out of a dark corner. " I thought after living like one of them," He hisses the word as he crosses the room. "you would start acting like one." Nate flashes an unlimited amount of teeth at Tessa before briefly stepping into the beacon of light.

Tessa's heart breaks. She wanted Nate to look like the boy she'd grown up with. The brother she loved. The shock reverberates in her veins that Nate is now only a decaying mass of flesh and teeth; silhouetted and hollow like long dead bones. He should be burnt and buried.

Tessa had turned her eyes to the sound of his voice. She tries to turn her head but her neck is stiff; shackled in place. "Nate, please." She begs, her body rocking then swinging.

Nate stands in front of Tatiana and even she recoils, pushing herself away from him. His face is clawed; red streaks spiraling disease sporadically and oozing with infection. One clear blue eye pulses like a noncompliance heart; beating rapidly and out of rhythm. The next minute the eye is springing out of its socket; the other drooped and distorted what was left of his face.

The wooden chair creaks and scrapes the floor as Tatiana is dragged backwards into the darkness.

Belial smiles, his teeth twisted twinkling stars. The smoke from the cigar curls around his silhouette; mysterious and inviting in his hand. "Oh, my darling Theresa. How foolish you are indeed. I am not after your precious gifted children. I am after your only grandchild." Belial laughs quietly and whispers, "Quod sanctum puerum. De Trinitate."

Tessa gasps, her anger surfacing like a forgotten shipwreck. "NO. NO. NO."

Belial laughs again, louder as the soles of his boots step into the cold darkness. "Quod aurea puer. Et trifecta spiritualis vitae pertinent."

Tessa's eyes are wide as she whispers, following Belial's cruel smile. "The trifecta. Angel. Demon. Fairy."

Belial grins.

Tessa's face is burning.

The color of Belial's eyes changes, glowing red in the shadows as he inhales and exhales the smoke into the shadow of a child. "My ticket to freedom."

****

The ride to Fairchild Manor had been far from interesting, at least from James's point of view. The carriage was not his own, but a hansom cab for starters. The quarters were musty smelling and too cramped to get comfortable. Cordelia was seated closely beside him and he could smell the scent of rosewater on her skin. The weather was cold and the elbows of their heavy coats touched and their hips grazed one another when the road turned bumpy.

Cordelia had been quiet for some time with her nose stuck in a book. Her dark eyes swept across the page; darting under her long lashes along every romantic line of Pride and Prejudice. James had to smile to himself as his gold eyes finally settled on Cordelia as she drifted away in her story. Sometimes he forgot how much alike they actually were; how compatible compared to others.

For weeks he had tried not think of her as his sister's best friend but as his bride-to-be.

The boys were right and James was hesitant to admit the situation was serious. The specific runes; the sealing vows were sacred and similar to that of a parabatai. A bond between two people that was not easily broken.

He glanced down at the silver circlet around his wrist; Grace's bracelet. The metal burned the inside of his wrist. He imagined the bracelet imprinting the Blackthorn moto on his flesh tying him to them.

James frowned. He felt this tremendous impact on his chest that he thought meant that he owed Grace.

Was he making the right choice? Only time would tell. James couldn't think straight and despite his lack of sleep, it wasn't the girl he was looking at who was in his thoughts.

Another girl was on his mind. Thomas had warned him that morning Grace was up to something devious and devoted to destroying Lucie.

Cordelia had told him as much the night before. Still, James couldn't help but think that Thomas's caution might be mistaken for paranoia. He also detected that Cordelia was overly jealous.

James didn't disagree outloud, but he didn't believe Lucie was in danger. Not for a second.

The only person who he believed was in danger was his mother. Will was vigorously and vigilantly working to save her and James wanted to be there when his father did.

The only thing James could do to help right now was be at Lucie's side and get her through. All either could do was wait.

Wait for life; wait for death.

Christopher and Thomas sat across from them, each preoccupied in their own space.

The former had spent most of the ride untangling a scientific equation that James decreed was the equivalent to opening a glass jar.

When Christopher speaks, there are crickets--dead silence in the carriage and even Cordelia glances up from her book. "What are the odds that we could send Matthew a message by launching a bottle into the sky?"

The latter is a wanderer. He is daydreaming and James can tell that Thomas is filled with anxiousness; categorizing his own neurotic suspicions under the guise of appearing somber. "Like a cannon?"

James blinks, his inky eyebrows furrowed. "A cannon?"

"No. More like a message in a bottle attached to a...a...something. Then we launch the something into the air by striking a match to a series of ropes soaked in kerosene."

James's interest peaks, "Kerosene?"

Thomas turns away from the sublime serenity of the Idris countryside long enough to crook an eyebrow at Christopher. "Are you proposing another exploration of explosions?"

"Gunpowder. We're going to need a lot of gunpowder." Christopher says excitedly, his lavender eyes wide. The gears in his head start turning.

"No gunpowder," James says, shaking his head. He has to be the voice of reason with this crazy idea because it is obvious that Thomas is not listening. "and no explosive devices."

"I know...no. No, well I..." Christopher trails off, his thoughts unraveling like the blueprints to his inventions. Henry would have understood, he reminds himself.

Thomas huffs, unhappy with Christopher's idea. He turns back towards the landscape, silent. He doesn't glance over at Christopher or James. None of them say a word.

James finally sighs, placing his hand on the seat close enough to graze Cordelia's gloved fingers.

The carriage would be at Matthew's front door by nightfall and James was not ready for the confrontation. For the first time in their friendship, James had no idea how to approach his parabatai on a subject as sensitive as fatherhood.

As they passed a lone cemetery, he closed his eyes and prayed to Raziel that they were not too late.

***

The clouds gathered overhead, the sky a darkening gray. A stray dog barked in the distance and Lucie pulled the wool coat tighter around her docile frame. "Why are we here Grace?"

The two girls are in the snowy cemetery; sitting upon a cobblestone hill facing a vast expanse of headstones. A cardinal flutters in the tree branches above; red in a world of white.

Grace is understanding in the quiet; almost complacent and comfortable among the dead. "Shhh. The sun is going down."

On the horizon, placed before them like a slice of golden fruit was the sun slipping into the snow capped hills.

Lucie is the opposite of Grace. Her powers hum inside, keeping her on edge with her instinct wavering. She glances nervously around and feels the priceless prickle of despair crawl into her heart. "Can we go now Grace?"

Grace shakes her head. "Not yet."

A carriage rolls by and Lucie catches the shape of a dark haired boy in the window.

She hopes it is James.

[venmomejoy]

When It Is Useful For You

Summary: Grace has broken things off with James again, and taken her bracelet with her. Relieved of the love charms Grace's bracelet placed on him, James realizes the truth of his affection for Cordelia. But is it too late?

part two / part three 

Read it on AO3!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/23836060/chapters/57278548

Cordelia sprinted to the Institute's doors upon hearing them swing open, a smile already breaking out on her face. She had begged and begged Alastair to train with her, and he had finally relented. She was desperate to learn all of the new techniques he had mastered while at the Academy. She had become very fond of training; she found that keeping herself busy was immensely helpful in treating a broken heart. While she could not heal it, she could distract herself from it, and that would have to do. She stuttered to a stop, however, at the sight of silver hair and porcelain skin. Grace Blackthorn stood proudly in the Institute's entryway, and if she noticed the surprise on Cordelia's face she did not deign to acknowledge it. Before Cordelia could recover from her shock enough to give a proper greeting, Grace had already spoken: "I need to speak with James." Cordelia, regaining her wits, applied a Herculean effort to conceal the misery that coursed through her at the request, though she felt that even if she made it known, Grace would not have cared. She had no doubt that Grace knew of Cordelia's feelings for James; the looks she sent Cordelia made her feel as though she was the most obvious girl in the world. Yet Grace still made no effort to conceal the connection between herself and James, even as Cordelia became his wife. "Of course, he is just in the library," Cordelia said cordially, though she could not meet Grace's eye. As soon as she had finished speaking Grace swept past her, and Cordelia let her head fall against the wall behind her. She knew she was foolish to be hurt every time Grace visited James, but she had not yet discovered how she could prevent it.

Cordelia had not yet mastered herself enough to move before Grace left the Institute without so much as a goodbye. Whatever she and James had discussed had been far briefer than any of their previous meetings, but it was no concern of Cordelia's, and she would not make it so. She wished to know as little as possible of James and Grace's relationship, and as such convinced herself not to question James on the conversation he'd just had. When Alastair finally arrived, she found she had never been so grateful for the diversion of her thoughts he brought with him.

Cordelia was sitting on the drawing room some time later, after fully exerting herself in training. She had been reading when James burst through the door, hair disheveled as if he had run his hands through it several times. Or someone else had. By the Angel, Cordelia did not want to think of the latter. He entered with a gait so confident as to feel deliberate, a difference so striking to his usual easy assurance that Cordelia was immediately concerned. His eyes caught hers with a look of steely determination, and she scarcely had time to stand before James had caught her hand in his and began speaking. "Daisy, I have been so blind. So, so blind." He spoke with hurried desperation, his hands reaching to cup her cheeks. Cordelia felt she had never been so thoroughly lost. After sharing a home with James for nearly six months, she felt as though she knew him quite well, even if their relationship was all pretense. She had become attuned to his mannerisms, his tells, in such a way that she could read him easily. This, however, she could not discern the meaning of. "James," she lifted her hands to cover his own, hoping to calm his racing mind. "James, what are you talking about?" "Daisy, I cannot comprehend how I have wasted so much time under such false pretense. I have deceived myself for far too long, when the answer, the glorious answer, has always been available to me." He spoke frantically, eyes roaming over her face as if he had never seen her before. "James, please, speak sense. You are beginning to worry me." "There is no need for worry, my Daisy, none at all. I think I have never been quite so cognizant as I am now." He tilted her face towards upwards and looked directly in her eyes, a look of what Cordelia might have mistaken for adoration had she been less sensible. "I love you," he said in a voice so soft it felt like a caress. "I love you, Daisy." Cordelia stared at him in shock. He had finally said them, the words she had longed to hear for so long, and her heart raced in ecstasy. She was not, however, a silly girl in love, and her reason soon made its voice heard. James was in love with Grace, had made it known so just yesterday. This did not make sense. Slowly, so slowly, she pulled his hands from her face. Not far, no, just far enough to see his that his wrist was abnormally bare. The answer then became exceptionally clear. Grace's unusually short visit and her terse manner- she must have ended things with James just this morning. "How can you be so cruel James," she asked, dropping his hands as if they had burned her. His face quickly fell, confusion marking his features. "I- what?" He opened his mouth to continue, but she could not bear to hear him declare a love for her which she knew he did not have. Indignation slowly rose in her chest. "Grace has thrown you aside again and you have decided I am a suitable means of distraction, is that it?" "What? Daisy, of course not-" "It certainly seems that way. Grace came just this morning to end your relationship. Do you think I am so foolish as to believe you sincerely care for me when just yesterday you wore the token of her affection? Love is not something you can turn on and off, James. How can you love her yesterday and me today?" "Daisy, please, it is nothing so sudden. It is not just today when I felt how deeply I love you. I can hardly explain why I felt such connection to Grace, but it is gone now, gone for good, and in its wake I have been left the freedom to fill its space with my true love: my love for you." James spoke so earnestly Cordelia desperately wanted to believe him, but experience had proved a good teacher, and she would not make the same mistake again. She felt tears prick the back of her eyes, and soon enough they spilled down her cheeks. James reached to wipe her tears away, but Cordelia recoiled so quickly he flinched. "James, I understand needing someone to help dull to ache of heartbreak, truly I do. I just hoped that you would have enough respect for me to not use me like that. I let myself be used by you in such a way once before, and I will not be prevailed upon to do so again. It hurts me too greatly. In the time you and Grace spent apart before, I let myself believe you cared for me. That night in the Whispering Room, our conversation when you came to return Cortana to me, our promises after fighting Belial. As much as I tried to prevent myself, I soon believed these were all signs of your affection. I believed that you loved me as I loved you, or could come to in time. Yet when Grace decided she wanted you again, you were at her side as if nothing had ever happened between us. Any moment of intimacy forgotten, any promise abandoned. And maybe you truly never meant to establish such conclusions on my end, and I can hardly fault you for that, but I cannot stand here and let you inflict on me the same agony I have already once endured. I will not be the person you use to warm Grace's spot until she decides to love you again, and I will not be the woman you settle for because the one you truly want will not have you. I desire more for myself, and I see myself as worthy of a true love, even if you do not." "Daisy..." The look of anguish on his face was hardly tolerable; she loved him too much to see him in such pain. She knew she must make her exit quickly, for her defenses could not withstand much longer. "I have let you make a fool of me once James; I will not do it again." With that, she turned on her heel and fled the room, not caring as tears streamed down her face in earnest. She heard someone shout her name, but she could not stop; if she stopped she would fall apart, and she did not know if she possessed the strength to pull herself back together. And if James slumped onto the couch and shed tears of his own, she would hardly know.

[aaetherius]

@lucisflos​

She wanted to thank him for helping with the wedding including teaching her about coffee she was grateful to have him as a friend she thought of a simple gesture he was a bit tall for her to reach so when he was sitting by himself on the deck watching the sky she bend down gently kissed his forehead he’ll probably just look at her confused on the gesture but she’ll explain to clear it up.”Sorry I know it’s strange but I wanted to thank you for everything Lucifer.”

Unprompted - Always open (feel free to turn into threads if you like)!

                                                      ★ ☆ ✮ ✯ ―☼ ― ★ ☆ ✮ ✯

     Wind licked at wayward strands of white locks where he sat upon the deck, legs bent slightly at the knee and arms draped loosely over his lap; calloused fingers resting on the soft downy of the skirt wrapped about his waist. Smile that found itself so easily upon his lips seemed a permanent part of his smooth features, especially when azure irises were all but gleaming beneath the warm glow of the sun hanging high in the bright, blue sky. Fluffy clouds rolled blissfully through vast aquamarine - wispy edges trailing behind them in the same manner steam wafted from a freshly brewed cup of coffee. And if he gazed at them long enough, he could spy various shapes and images and people within their puffy forms. From wide wings to delicate cups to the young dragon that was always fluttering at the Singularity’s side - how strange that the eyes could find meaning in everything and anything they looked upon. And, despite the countless centuries he has lived, his are still so painfully capable of doing something so mundane and rather inane. But it serves to ground him; to make him feel more a part of the crew than any amount of Sandalphon’s prompting or Lyria’s curious strings of questions do. He had always found the sky beautiful and endless and wonderful, but, for some reason, these days it seemed brighter and larger and more stunning than it had before.       

      He could hear the clammer of the crew around him - Rackam, where he stood at the helm and guided his beloved ship, and Noa, somewhere on the floor beside the pilot, were discussing updates to the Grandcypher while Katalina was fretting over Lyria who had eaten something a bit too quickly while Vyrn laughed loudly behind them. The Singularity was around, as well, leaning over the edge of the ship with a crinkled map in their hand that served little purpose when they were too busy dividing their attention between Lyria and the bickering crew members in the back of the ship. This scene was one he had never believed he would be a part of, even if he was seated a decent distance from the others - alone and content in his own quiet solitude. He had never once known peace - not in his entire infinite existence, but he imagines this is something so very close to it and that, perhaps, he might be able to grow used to this fleeting, yet tender feeling of belonging that wormed its way into his core.   

      But that silent solitude of his was broken by the sound of lithe footsteps upon the deck, his head tilting back a bit to meet their owner’s face. He can’t say he minds his makeshift peace being shattered by Lucina, and his smile remaining only serves to prove that fact. She has become one of the first ‘friends’ he can say he’s made since his revival, though he’s still learning what the concept of friendship even is. But he has enjoyed spending time with her - from teaching her how to make coffee to learning dances with her for her wedding. Little things that, before, he may have never had the chance to do. His lips part with the intention of greeting her, but they slip shut again when she leans down to place a gentle against his forehead. Long, silver lashes flutter in mild confusion that just barely seeps onto his pretty features - head tilting ever so slightly to the side.   

       Yet confusion ebbs from his face just as quickly as it had settled in when she explains the gesture. “Not at all,” he reassures. “I am glad I have been able to be of help you. If anything, I should be the one thanking you. I have learned quite a bit from you, Lucina, and each day that I am able to pass time with everyone, yourself included, is a blessing I will not take for granted.” He stands up slowly, hand reaching out to ruffle dark blue locks gingerly as his expression softens visibly. “Thank you, Lucina, I pray that I will continue to be able to learn from you and aid you with whatever you need in the future.” And, of course, that the wedding goes well. He has done his best to match her dedication to the ceremony even if he doesn’t quite grasp everything that needs to be done or is expected of him, but he is trying. He hopes, eventually, the entire crew will warm to the idea for her sake (not Belial’s just yet, he’s still debating whether or not the other is even worthy of his trust, but he suppose Lucina cares for him deeply so he will be civil) and attend.  

[hellspathfinder]

Thunderous Passing of Titans

Excerpts from “Ravounel: A History” by author-unknown 4719, Ravounel.

“The truth is, revolution is an ugly affair.  The short-short version goes like this: citizens of Kintargo had enough. They rose up, killed their Lord Mayor that the capital had sent to bully them, and seceded from Cheliax. 

This was a struggle 100 years in the making. Starting the moment Abbie 1 swore allegiance to Asmodeus, people in the North didn’t take to it. They grumbled and they swore ‘better not try to bring that devil-talk up here...’ Well, they did just that. 

The Silver Ravens were like the city’s elite defense force. They had chased off or killed many great threats to their home that came from Nidal, or the Sea, or the mountains. Now they faced a threat from within.

They fought the new order laid down by Thrune and they did well at first, but they faltered. They went too far and turned on each other. Kintargo’s celebrity defenders all turned up dead or disappeared, and things were quieter for about three quarters of a century.

One thing tumbles into another though. A hell-knight raids the mansion of a nobleman found in violation of some this or that. There he finds a sword Iomedae used to carry. So he takes it and proudly hangs it up in Citadel Dinyar. When the Iomedaeans get wind of it, they feel they should have it instead. The hell-knights, never much for words, just say ‘No.’

The paladins take this harder than anyone expects, and raise a force. They storm the hell-knight’s fortress, lock them up or kill them and they take the sword. Seeming surprised at their own success, they figure they’ll just press on and see what else they can trash in Cheliax, Iomedae’s old stomping grounds. Fools from afar flock to their banner and soon they’re not just a band of upstarts, they’re downright “Glorious” in their own words.

This sends Cheliax into a panic. You know when you’re real scared and all the blood rushes into your body, your limbs go numb, and your head and heart start going fast as they can? That’s what Cheliax does. They pull back the army. The Navy blockades the Inner Sea. They close all the passes and so Kintargo is left to its own devices and a crazy Thrune-cousin named Barzillai is put in charge.

This ‘Barzillai’ is a cruel sort but he loves Kintargo. He moves into the Opera house, sees shows every week, has big expensive dinners and buys up art from all over. He also publicly humiliates anyone who goes against him and puts the city on a curfew. Imagine that? He’s loving and enjoying the Kintargo night-life but he tells the common-folk they’ve got a bedtime. Nope.

So the Silver Ravens emerge again. Different people, same anger. They start picking old Barzillai apart. They make a fool of him so he squeezes harder but they don’t bend. He gets really mean and they leave his Dottari dead in the streets. Then the city’s at war with itself and the rest of the world goes dark to us. Nidal closes it’s borders. No more ships come up the coast. Menador pass is shut.

So we Kintargans hash this out ourselves. Barzillai lays trap after trap and does some damage, but the Ravens keep escaping. Finally it’s just fighting in the streets, only Barzillai don’t step in the street, he flies over us all on his blue dragon breathing hellfire. He’s had enough. He’s fallen out of love with Kintargo and just wants to watch it burn.

That’s when the Ravens crawl out of the river, the dark alleys, even the taverns and just take him on. He tries to burn the library and they put it out. He tries to hold Bleakbridge and they cover the stones in Dottari blood. Barzillai even sneaks in some Thrune warships from Pezzack but mother nature herself rises up and beaches a couple of them before the last one stands out to sea.

Now B.Thrune is hopping mad. He sends the dragon to Aroden Plaza where the Ravens & Dottari are mixing it up, and breathes fire on the lot of them. Killing his friends and enemies alike. The Ravens survive it and a local boy, Lothario, lands a lucky shot wounding the drake and she retreats back to the Temple of Asmodeus - highest building in the city.

The Ravens clean up the streets with the help of the Hellknights of the Torrent. No one knew who’s side they’d come in on until Barzillai hedged his bets and banned them, took their holdings, and locked them up. That pissed them right off and they are Blue as the ocean now, not a spot of red on them.

The Ravens and Knights of the Torrent siege the temple, pinning the Asmodeans in there, but Barzillai has his dragon fixed up. He rides out to destroy. Throwing punches in the air, we call it, only these fists are 200 foot pillars-of-flame. He kills some good people and destroys some parts of Kintargo we still don’t have back.

He even goes for the orphanage but old Clenchjaw draws him off. Nobody rightly heard what Clench said to Barzillai  as he sailed past on his dragon, but it must have been something. Thrune turned, spared the orphanage and dropped a building on old Clenchjaw. Took us a week to dig him out, dead with a smile on his face and his hands clenched in fists.

The Ravens work up the nerve to go into the devil’s home, and this flushes the dragon out. That’s when we learnt that the Ravens fight devils with angels. A huge man made of pure silver wielding a green-glass sword fought that dragon and knocked old Barzillai clean off it and into the streets. Most will say the Angel killed him, but I saw it with my own eyes. 

Gabriel, the Angel Raven did knock him off of Rivizair, the great blue drake, but Barzillai wasn’t done. He took them all on toe to toe and killed Elia Nones of the Scourge of Belial and Chuko the priest / weapon-trader from the Northside. The Captain of the Scourge was also present. And as the dragon had burned his ship to the waterline two days prior, and Barzillai had just killed his first mate, he’d had enough. He stepped to the Lord Mayor and ran him clean through.

But he didn’t die. Friends of devils are the Thrunes. It took a bit of help from Gabriel but they got him properly chopped up and moved onto his next life. We all thought that’d just be the end of him.

The people reinstated Jilia as Lord Mayor the very next day and we declared independence shortly after. We setup a statue of old Clenchjaw on the newly renamed Silver Span, formerly Bleakbridge.  Thrune sent us a nasty note and we had a long way to go to settling it all, but that was the Battle for Kintargo, 76 years in the making.”

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 26: Ultimatum

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Twenty-Six: Ultimatum

Note: Stayed up all night on Thursday finalizing the last edit of the book. Only now do I realize that I probably say “probably”, “sightly”, and “seemingly” a lot. Oops, just did it again. Sorry about that. That editing experience was truly an eye-opener for me.

(-~-)

Every individual drop of blood in V’s body chilled as he looked onward, truly and utterly paralyzed with fear. From the very sound of his voice to his utterly enormous size and generally grotesque appearance, nothing about the towering demon prince that stood before him didn’t intimidate V. There was a certain level of intelligence and grandeur to the way that he spoke that the young summoner found deeply unnerving and unpleasant, and he wished for nothing more than the ability to be as far away from him as possible. But the way things were going, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. And something told him that he wouldn’t be nearly as receptive to the kinds of tricks and tactics that he used against smaller less intelligent demons.

No, this was a fully realized devil, not some lesser demon that he could easily sideswipe on the streets. There was no shortcut that he could see himself taking that could lead to an easy solution to the predicament that he was in. Truthfully,  aside from simply trying to fight Belial, V wasn’t really sure what he could do to combat his opponent. It didn’t take a mental giant to be able to tell that doing battle against such a primeval and unknowably powerful demon might easily spell the end of his life, but there was a part of him that was somewhat sure that he could probably experience worse things at the hands of his enemy than just simply dying. He genuinely hoped that he would never find out.

“I need to think this through as carefully as I can. I didn’t live this long by being foolish.” V thought to himself in silence as he stared at the looming face in front of him, refusing and unable to break eye contact. His lungs still burned from the inability to fully draw breath, cursing him for having managed to get himself into a situation like this. And although the tightness around his ribcage didn’t seem to relent any, he was sure that his bones were much more willing to oblige.

But despite everything, there was one small silver lining to this situation that he refused to even consider, lest his enemy somehow realize his true intentions: at least none of the people he cared about were here to see this and be harmed as a result. While he did care what happened to Sirrus, the knowledge that at least Nero, Dante, and even Vergil were spared this fate brought him some semblance of closure and peace. Unless Belial somehow manifested them in this place alongside him, they could not be harmed, at least not yet. He was sure that they were next on his list, regardless of how little he wanted that to be the case. But for now… 

Leaning in closer to examine its quarry, the imposing head tilted to the side much farther than it probably should have been able to, leading V to the unsettling conclusion that this creature might have either a longer neck than it probably should have, or that it had a body that allowed it to move in this kinds of manner. V scarcely wanted to imagine what the rest of Belial looked like if his face alone was this grotesque and foreign. The low rattle that accompanied the demon’s speech came just moments before it spoke, almost as if it were so large that the meer vibration caused by his vocal cords was enough to disrupt the atmosphere of the room. V wasn’t entirely sure that was out of the question, and that alone was more than slightly problematic.

“A little short on words, aren’t we? An intellectual then. You listen carefully before responding. What a welcome change from your sire, and his sire before him. Vergil seems to possess little in the way of interest in idle chitchat, one of the few things we have in common.” A distasteful look crossed Belial’s face as V listened in silence, unsure of what to say or how he could tell that the demon lord that stood before him was reacting in the way that he was. After all, how could someone read another being’s body language when they had no body to speak of? He didn’t even have a mouth to grimace with. No, it was just something in his eyes. Those five giant, all-seeing eyes.

Unable to come up with a response, V scolded himself internally for not being able to move, denoting that being able to simply shrug in a situation like this would be incalculably useful. While it might only serve to irritate the huge being that he was currently at the mercy of, it was better than accidentally telling him something that he didn’t need to know. And besides, literally any response -or lack of response- was probably all that it would take to anger a devil like this. He got the feeling that this entire situation was a ticking time bomb that he didn’t want to be at the mercy of. It was like playing Russian Roulette, except with a shotgun, and you had to look down the barrel of the gun the entire time.

Seemingly realizing that V had no intention of responding to his inquiry, Belial waited for a moment, quietly studying his “guest”. There was no reason that he shouldn’t use this opportunity to try and better his understanding of the helpless creature that he had managed to subdue. It seemed that at the very least he didn’t possess his father’s psychotic death wish, and knew that it was best to not anger him if he could avoid it. Cleaver little creature. Not many that he came across were intelligent enough to attempt to not anger him. Most tried to punch far above their league, and they paid dearly for their transgressions. Only a fool tried to do combat against something that they knew was more powerful than them, especially by that kind of margin. Be the son of one or not, V was clearly not one himself.

Although, perhaps I am being slightly uncharitable. Sparda was immensely intelligent, and only truly spoke when he was trying to kill something. But that did take up a sizeable number of his waking hours once upon a time.”

While I can admit that your silence is telling and respectable as opposed to attempting to intimidate me, it has become an inconvenience to me. You do not want to become a source of irritation for me, Nestling.” Belial said ominously, not exactly inraged, but clearly fed up with his unwilling guest’s inability (or unwillingness) to speak. “What has it been in your human years? About two-thousand years? He must be quite bored of playing human with you all by now. What is he up to these days?”

“Honestly, I couldn’t tell you,” V said in an almost resigned tone. Great, they were already getting into subject matter that he didn’t want to touch. Something told him that Belial wouldn’t believe him if he told him that he didn’t know practically anything about his grandfather. He had heard legends about the Dark Knight Sparda, but up until recently when he had become embroiled in the Redgrave Disaster, that had been all that he thought they were. Did the devil prince already know that? Was this some sort of test to see if he was going to lie to him? It was hard to tell, but everything he said or did felt like a massive misstep.

Unease gripped him as Belial fell silent, his face not showing much in the way of emotion or responsiveness. He had gone from sarcastically jovial to intimidatingly quiet in the blink of an eye, and it was genuinely unsettling. If he were willing to guess, and that was about all he could do in his current situation, he would say that the being that currently occupied most of the space that they were in (from what he could tell… ) was thinking. He had probably said something that Belial found strange or that didn’t exactly match up with what he had in mind. One could only hope that he was not the type who converted all of his negative emotions into pure rage, but he was almost certain that he knew the answer to that assumption.

Returning his attention to V, Belial loomed over him like the inevitability of death itself, something in his demeanor having shifted abruptly. V hadn’t felt safe around the towering devil before, but now… now he felt genuinely worried for his safety. There was just something about this situation that didn’t feel right, above and beyond the obvious issues that were present. No, now he was actually in danger, and he wasn’t sure that he could take on such a powerful opponent with just his summons alone. But regardless, if he had to stand his ground and fight, he wasn’t going to back down. He didn’t want to die again, but if he was going to, then it was going to happen on his terms this time.

Belial leaned in close, nearly touching V with the part of his face where his nose should have been. Up this close, V now realized that the building-sized demon actually possessed a nose of sorts. Two thin slits just above where his mouth should have been flexed as he seemed to exhale slowly, be it from a biological need to breathe, frustration, or a mixture of the two, he didn’t know. What he did know was that the devil’s breath was surprisingly cold, something that he wouldn’t have normally associated with a demon. While it was true that there were plenty of demons that were based on other elements besides fire, V was still surprised to see one up close that was this… Imposing.

“Kneel to me. Acknowledge my dominion over you. Beg for mercy.” Belial said coldly as he seemed to look into V’s very core. It was not a request so much as it was an obviously threatening demand. He expected V to do this. There was no negotiation to be had. The young summoner would either do this, or face the consequences, and that was as clear as it could be. “Do this… and I may decide that I have other uses for you other than simply exterminating you. It is a generous offer. Take it.”

Composing himself, V swallowed before gently clearing his throat. He just knew that his response wasn’t going to go over well. Despite the fact that he wasn’t even entirely sure that he could physically do that, it didn’t make much of a difference. Belial was asking him to turn his back on his friends and family, and that wasn't going to happen. Not while he still had functioning limbs and breath in his body, regardless of their admittedly undesirable condition and quantity at times. Belial was simply going to have to be disappointed, and he was not looking forward to being the one to break it to him.

“So V, are ya gonna do what he wants so he doesn’t crush every bone in your skinny ass body like an empty soda can, or are you gonna do what I think you're gonna do?” Griffon whispered in the farthest recesses of the back of his mind. V barely recognized his presence at first, only realizing a moment later that this was probably a deliberate move on his avian companion’s part to help conceal his presence. “I mean, it’s your call either way. That’s your life. Me and the kitty here are always ready to keep something from beating your scrawny butt senseless, but I’m willing to bet that I know which one of those two options he offered you hurts less. Just saying.”

“Unfortunately for us both, that is entirely out of the question. I would rather die than willingly serve his interests. That isn’t the sort of thing that I think I could fake to get him to let his guard down. And even if I could, where would I run to?” V asked calmly, seemingly understanding that the odds of getting out of a situation like this were quite low. He had no way of knowing the depths of Belial’s power, and he was positive that he didn’t want to. There was no way of being able to prepare. “I’m sorry that I dragged you into this. I could never forgive myself if I lowered myself that far.”

“Why did I just know you were gonna say that. Don’t be. Were the ones that keep showing up. We knew that we were taking a risk being around you. We just didn’t know things were gonna get this bad.” Griffon’s casual mannerisms came as a slight surprise to V as the young summoner attempted to comprehend the fact that his companion was so willing to give up everything to save him. He figured that their past experiences had strengthened their bond, and they both knew that they had managed to get out of bad situations before, but it went without saying that this time things were much different. “Okay then. That’s your choice. Can’t say I don’t understand it. I’m just glad that those are your nerve endings in the line of fire and not mine. Something tells me that he’s not gonna like your answer. Be careful, kiddo. I’m here if ya need me. But please don’t need me. I like living!”

“I know, Griffon. I know.” V whispered internally as he felt the large blue bird’s consciousness recede once again. He had taken the hint and gone back into hiding before his master could ask him to stay quiet for their combined safety. The statement had brought him a momentary measure of comfort, and he hoped that it did the same for Griffon. There was no telling what Belial would do to them if he knew that V had access to summons. He needed to have at least one ace up his sleeve in a situation like this, even if it probably wouldn’t do him much good. Hope was essential, nonetheless.

“I’m sure that you would like that, but I’m afraid that I have to decline your generous offer,” V said calmly -and almost sarcastically-, carefully contemplating his next move. He sincerely doubted that Belial wasn’t going to be at least mildly irritated by his unintentionally smartass answer. That just didn’t seem like the kind of reaction that he would have to being told no. As inconvenient as that truth was, there was no way of getting around it. No, he would just have to plunge headfirst into the flames and hope for the best.

A low rumble suddenly shook the room, rattling the space around them like marbles in a glass jar. Before V could say or do anything, he found himself falling forward towards the inky blackness before him. He landed chest first as though he had been pushed off of a cliff, only to find himself winched backward into a kneeling position, his arms behind his back. The same black tendrils that had held him in place before anchored him from behind this time, preventing him from standing or moving either of his shoulders. He was just stuck. And any disobedience movement would surely signal the end for his shoulder blades and his rotator cuff alike.

“Quite the disappointing answer to be sure, but one that I expected. You continue to surprise me. How unusual.” The demon said simply, sounding almost disinterested. Was this sarcasm?

Moments later, V felt a sharp pain in his side as one of the tendrils jabbed him in the lower left segment of his abdomen. A cold chill ran down his spine as he looked up at what he assumed to be the ceiling, feeling something cold trickle down his back and side. He liked to think that it wasn’t blood as he assumed that he would be able to better feel something like that, but he couldn’t be sure. But if it was, then there was quite a bit of it.

“You seem to have come in contact with the conduit. Just as I had suspected. It seems that my utterly worthless followers managed to do at least one advantageous thing for me in spite of their otherwise unhelpful nature.” Belial chuckled darkly, a chilling sound that seemed to echo like a storm siren in the small space that wasn’t taken up by his massive head. V got the feeling that he knew what the demon was referring to, but he genuinely didn’t want to know. “They spent too much effort on petty things like rank and uniform, and too little time working on the tasks that I assigned them that would actually yield results. They could not strike a balance between the two. But no matter. At least one of my followers managed to do their assigned duty correctly. Truly pathetic and inefficient. I am fortunate to have acquired a more advanced methodology since their liquidation.”

V craned his neck to try and see the demon, noting that a cold tingling sensation was starting to manifest in his lower extremities. His fingertips felt cold, but internally rather than externally. It was unpleasant, but not quite painful. For a moment he wondered if the strange sensation he felt had something to do with his last run-in with the cult. That was the only other time that he had ever felt anything even remotely this unpleasant.

“Go and join your little friend, nestling. I think it’s time that I attend to other matters. I will return to you sometime in the near future. Until then…“ Belial trailed off, dissipating like a cloud of ash and soot that had made contact with water. V blinked in surprise but had barely any time to respond before he felt his weight shift forward and downward all at once. And then he started to fall. Fast.

Lurching forward into nothingness, V suddenly felt the air part around him as he passed through the place where Belial’s gigantic face had been moments ago and into the endless darkness around him. Another featureless room, perhaps? He was too delirious and dizzy to be able to tell at this point. But as he attempted to sit up, his side suddenly began to sting, and this time it was considerably worse.

Scrambling slightly and gasping at the sudden discomfort, V reached over and grabbed at the darkness around him, his hand grasping something as he tried to blink away the strange sense of exhaustion that suddenly gripped him. And much to his momentary horror, something reached back and returned the favor, clamping onto him tightly.

It was Sirrus. And he had clearly seen better days.

(-~-)

So how was your week?! Happy Thursday! I have some updates on friday about the books. I would have them today, but I had an awful GERD attack yesterday that took me out of commission so I didn’t get a lot done. At least the cover artwork will be done soon! See you all on friday! Now to the comment section!

[yuki-d-raizel-blog]

Hero

Chapter 29/??

Relationship: Todoroki Shouto x Reader (Your/Name), (Full/Name)

Summit: It all begin at the Sports Festival when Shouto’s other half met Endevour by mistake. The student never thought to see his partner fight against his father just to show him that he is wrong. It started from that instant, Shouto’s new path started exactly from that moment thanks to his friends and his beloved one.

---

<<Fenrir.>> the wolf hits you with his big claws breaking your ice and throwing you towards a building, which collapse for the massive impact and buries you under its heavy ruins. “She is holding back, why? It’s not only the earring, she is doing it on purpose. She isn’t stupid, she understood right away that there is an abyssal difference between me and her, still, she refuses to use her full power.”

Curious about you, Seatiel pierces the concrete with Verg Avesta and starts a hand-to-hand fight. She dodges only at the beginning, the more the time passes, the more her body is in pain and is hard to move. After a few minutes, Seatiel leads the match and beats the girl mercilessly, until he understands that he could kill her, he stops with a last kick on her stomach, sending her far away. Her body rolls on the black cement and paints it with her blood.

<<(Y/N)!!!>> Tenka and the others are blocked by Seatiel’s beasts, they don’t have energy to call theirs, and attacking without a support, it’s a suicide… What they can do to save their little sister? Why heroes don’t come? They don’t see that this section of the city is half burned, collapsed and frozen?!

She groans in pain, poses a hand and tries to stand up once again. She must endure until a pro will be there, someone will see all that mess, she did it on purpose, then why they are so late? Ran too… Where is he?

<<Why are you smiling, little girl?>> asks Seatiel, <<You’re crossing the death line right now, are you happy to die so young?>>

<<Of course… not…>> her voice is hoarse and low, but that smile; why she is smiling? <<… A certain hero says…. Go beyond... And that’s what… I want to do… I’ll show to you the meaning… of “Plus Ultra”.>>

“She clearly can’t do anything anymore. Kirin burnt her arm, Fenrir hurt her and I broke a few bones. She is still using her beasts to endure the pain better, but when all of this will be over… Will you survive to the hunger of your own beasts?” <<You have my full respect, (F/N). As a sign of recognition, this will be the last hit.>> Seatiel calls all his beasts back and the spear shines brightly, <<Show me that you can overcome this wall that born in your path, third coming of Kafka.>> he jumps reaching an enormous high and poses ready to throw Verg Avesta towards the town.

“….That move…. He is planning to raze to the ground the entire city….” (Y/N) looks at him and does a few deep breaths, “There’s no way out, I must activate it… I really wanted to spend more time with Shouto, making him less worried and happier… I promised to him to go to the next matsuri and watch the fireworks together.” you grab your earring and with the last deep breath, you throw it away.

Your iris turns red, and the sclera black with red veins across the eyes and into the skin around the eye. Your hair become darker and darker, and behind your back rise the most beautiful fire never saw. Black flames with no shape, but slowly, colorful strips are decorating them. Purple, silver, yellow, red, blue… All the colors blend magnificently together, making you like a true fallen angel.

<<(Y/N) no!!>> Tenka, Lenka, Shuu and Joel start to cry and scream your name as loud as they can, <<(Y/N)!!>>

Staring at Seatiel, you see his spear surrounded by vortexes of the power of the beasts, if that hits the ground, Hosu will be destroyed, and not only that.

<<The great half-god, half-human king born from the union between the King Atlas, Yaha-kui and goddess ZaShunina. He was an ultimate, transcendent being so divine as to be two-thirds god and one-third human, and no others in the world could match him.>> the prayer is awaking all your beasts at once, they stay still as if their power is not ready to go against Seatiel’s, <<He was a despot not merely a legend, and is said to have existed and ruled during the dark era, five thousand years ago. He was the King of Heroes; Kafka. I, child of yours, have inherited your power to fight the evil and protect the light…>> “I wanted to talk more with Izuku and Kirishima, do more girly things with Uraraka and Mina… I should be less asshole with Bakugou, he cares a lot for his friends, but he’s too proud to show it… Ah, I was enjoying this life…”

The ground shakes hardly under the two forces that are fighting right now. In the sky, Seatiel finished his prayer and he moves his body as a gear to throw Verg Avesta towards his target, while (Y/N) uses everything she has to defend thousands of lives.

<<Breath of Gungnir!>> Seatiel attacked… <<Roh Arias!>> (Y/N)’s seven beasts get in line and transform into a thick lay of crystalized fire, making a rigid defense.

The girl is sliding on the ground due to the pressure that she supports, if she gives up, too many innocents will die, she can’t let that happen, but her body surrenders first. Her sight is fading away, her hearing is becoming deaf, her body warmth is stolen, the pain is too much…

<<KHA!!>> she coughs out blood, her arms and legs shiver intensely. “No, I mustn’t fall now…” the first three shields are broken, Verg Avesta doesn’t stop and doesn’t lose its strength, “I can’t…” her arms slowly fall, as her legs are guiding her to the black and cold concrete…

<<(Y/N)-chan!!>> Midoriya turns his quirk on and jumps with all his might. He repelled the fearful weapon and rushed to your side, <<(Y/N)-chan, hang in there, we are here!>> “The wound on her side is deep, if we don’t take her away from here, she is not gonna make it!”

<<I…zu…ku…?>> you open your eyes, and recognized him for the color of his hair, you can’t see him even if you are so close to him, but that shade of green is like his ID document.

<<That was completely unexpected.>> Seatiel lays the lance on his shoulders and looks at the student. “He erased my skill and repelled the lance… He is a mate of the beasts?” when he moves a step to neutralize Deku, a weaved spear, pierces the ground right in between his feet, “What a huge control. These students are all so strong. Wait, that kid… The Wrath mate?!”

<<Stay away from her!!>> Shouto protects with his body both Midoriya and you, he fully unlocked his quirk, surrounded by a freezing ice and a melting fire, <<You bastard…>> his voice is so upset and his gaze is terrifying, <<I’ll let you go for today, but the next time, I will fucking kill you!>> after that scream, Ash Crow rises behind Todoroki and encloses him in its fiery black wings.

<<Don’t come near (Y/N) never again!>> without notice it, a beast rises behind Izuku too. His attention is stolen by his friend that coughs hardly, vomiting blood and groans in pain, <<Hang in there, I’ll take you->>

<<NO, DON’T MOVE ME!>> she grabs his costume so hard that she almost rips it off, <<It hurts…>> she cries and breaths quickly and hardly, <<So much… It hurts….>>

<<Don’t worry.>> Midoriya grabs your bloody hand and holds it to reassure you, “… If I move her, she suffers too much, she could pass out for the pain and we can’t control her vital signs anymore. What do I must do?” the boy tights the grip on your hand and prays that someone come there and save you.

<<Too many people are coming, too troublesome.>> Seatiel actives his Gluttony form and walks backwards, <<I’m looking forward to our next date. Bye-bye!>> he waves and jumps high, disappearing in the dark sky.

“Oh crap, crap, crap…!” <<Todoroki-kun!>> Midoriya is pale and with watery eyes, his voice is scared. When his friend turns to see what happened, a cold and strong shock hits him hardly.

<<No, no, no, no!>> he kneels in front of him and touches your face without minding the blood, <<(Y/N) stay awake!>> her head is hanging backwards and her body is becoming colder and colder, <<Guys->>

<<Take her and look for a hero!>> screams Shuu, <<Leave us here, she must be cured first!>>

Without losing another second, Todoroki picks you up and runs as fast as he can to find someone that can help you to survive. Midoriya runs after him, he doesn’t even feel the pain on his ankle anymore, he is too shocked and worried for his friend. He literally felt her body becoming heavier suddenly and her hand lost that tiny grip that (Y/N) could find that moment… Is a feeling that he doesn’t want to feel never again…

<<Dad!! Iida!! Someone!! Help me!!>> screams Todoroki looking everywhere, <<Someone!! Please!!>> he keeps his quirk activated using only his flames to warm the girl up, that dream mustn’t become reality.

<<Shouto!>> a young man waves at him rushing to his side escorted by Endevour and a few heroes, included Gran Torino, <<Give her to me! It’s me, Hakkai.>>

That man is Hakkai? Hah?! He is younger, like so MUCH younger… But it’s not the right moment to think about him, there’s something more important.

<<Please do something!>> the man uses his quirk immediately on (Y/N), while Endevour and Gran Torino send the heroes to call a medic equip, they must bring Belial at the nearest hospital. While your wounds are healing, Shouto holds your hand on his mouth, praying with his heart that you will be fine, “Please, please, please, do not take my light away from me…”

<<You are injured too, guys?>> Hakkai looks at the two students and finds a few wounds, <<I’ll he->>

<<(Y/N) first!>> they shout at the same time, <<Her first….>>

<<I already did all that I could… The rest depends on her and on the doctors…>> he smiles sadly and convinced the boys to heal their wounds as much as he can.

Since the medic equips will not be there in time, Endevour picks Belial up and escorts her personally to the nearest hospital. Shouto and Deku tried to chase him, but the man that was with you and a few heroes stopped them, saying that for the moment, there are more injured people who needs help.

---Continue...

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 21.5, 22, 22.5, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, Last Chapter

[ulyssesredux]

Circe

(He taps her on the table towards the lampset siding. To Stephen. Wearied with the silver paper. Their leaves whispering. In triumph. In the agony of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the bloody globe. The women's heads coalesce. A wind, stronger than the night that demonic baying rolled over the crowd and lurches towards the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a quill between his teeth. To Zoe. Gaily.)

THE CALLS: Jays, that's what you are.

THE ANSWERS: My little shy little lass has a waist.

(The moon was shining against it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a waterfall is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone below. Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his hand and writes idly on the floor. A multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.)

THE CHILDREN: Bulbul! Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.

THE IDIOT: (With ferocious articulation.) Breach of promise.

THE CHILDREN: Sweet are the darbies.

THE IDIOT: (Footmarks are stamped over it in.) Stubborn as a mule!

(All agog. Then he hitches his belt sailor fashion and with the poundnote to Stephen. Her sowcunt barks. Bloom. Subdued. Lynch bends Kitty back over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a small piece of green jade. His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying, presses a forefinger. She hauls up a reef of her horsed foot. Whispers hoarsely. He shakes hands with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. Suffered untold misery. Uncloaks impressively, revealing her bare thigh, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark. Jogging, mocks them with him just now and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had heard all night a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound. Bloom tightens and loosens his grip on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an upward push of his waistcoat, fawn dustcoat on his hand which is feeling for her supper, things to tell her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his face congested He belches He twists her arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her. Bloom. The disc rasps gratingly against the mauve shade, flapping noisily. Kitty and Zoe circle freely.)

CISSY CAFFREY: She has it, the leg of the duck, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a blow of my inevitable doom.

(Clerk of the lamps in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows. Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a banknote by its arm and gurgles. A general rush and scramble. The pack of bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho cap and hobbles off mutely.)

THE VIRAGO: … You're a liar, excuse me … the gentleman paid down like a gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the Lord have mercy on your soul. Containing the new addresses of all Frillies, pray for us.

CISSY CAFFREY: And me with a soldier friend. We only realized, with the privates.

(Bloom himself.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the duck.

(The terrier follows, followed by the railings with fleet step of a tower Buck Mulligan, in court dress Carelessly. All he could do was to whisper, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch in white limewash. Pulling Private Carr and Private Compton turn and counterretort, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the legends Cead Mile Failte and Mah Ttob Melek Israel Spans the street.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Pulling his comrade.) They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had been hovering curiously around it.

PRIVATE CARR: (His scarlet beak blazes within the hall, rushes back.) Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Her features hardening, gropes in the bucket.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but I forgive him for insulting me.

(Her voice whispering huskily. Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble. She draws a poniard and, steadying her pose, lifts the curled caterpillar on his fork With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and looks about him dazedly, passing a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.)

STEPHEN: Dance of death. Where's the red carpet spread?

(They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his hand, chants with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. The elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, slobbering.)

THE BAWD: (Now, however, we did not look in the following day for London, taking with me the amulet.) Fallopian tube. All prick and no pence. Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat. Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl?

STEPHEN: (Flirting quickly, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels.) Lecherous lynx, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam.

THE BAWD: (Gaily.) Writing the gentleman alone, you cheat. Sst! All prick and no pence.

(Nods, smiling, kissing the page. Imperiously.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands erect.) Haltyaltyaltyall. Hundred shillings to five. We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall. She kicked the bucket. Queer kind of thing on the wing, on you? As we hastened from the centuried grave. O, yes! Ah!

STEPHEN: (M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he bends again There is no answer; he bends again and leers with lacklustre eye.) White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is.

(To the court. Signor Maffei, passionpale, in girlish blue, waspwaisted, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking with a turreting turban, waits. Major Tweedy and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with them. In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing rosettes, from the cracks.)

LYNCH: I'm not looking I hope you gave the good father a penance.

STEPHEN: (Behind his back and stares sideways down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an upward push of his days, permeated by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.) All he could do was to all men.

LYNCH: Sheet lightning courage. Illustrate thou.

STEPHEN: This is the question. Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors.

LYNCH: It skills not.

STEPHEN: History to blame. Hail, Sisyphus. It is not dream—it is not dream—it is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it.

LYNCH: All one and the same God to her. Pornosophical philotheology.

STEPHEN: Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we were troubled by what we read.

(Bloombella Kittylynch Florryzoe jujuby women. Gold Stick, the deathflower of the devilish rituals he had seen that summer eve from the abhorrent spot, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed.)

LYNCH: Hold on! Pandybat. Hu hu hu! Who taught you palmistry? Pandybat.

(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant. Bloom, then at Zoe, Florry and Bella push the table to count. He averts his face to the ground. Zoe. Stephen. Runs to Stephen. Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly. A dark horse, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses.)

(Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Primate of all, the mystery man on the beach, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his teeth. Communes with the music, temptations. Stiffly, her plaited hair in a chalked circle, rises hungrily from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their oxters, as if seeking for some needed air, I departed on the fringe of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the gasjet lights up a fit policeman He whispers in the extreme, savoring at once thrusts his lipless face through the crowd with his free hand. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure. Bloom in a sudden paroxysm of fury. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and before a lighted house, and turn. Blows. With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Kitty and Zoe circle freely. On the night of September 24,19—, I staggered into the purple waiting waters.)

(With quiet feeling. Bloom. He is encrusted with weeds and shells. Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his spine, stumps forward.)

BLOOM: Shop closes early on Thursday. I felt it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. Pelvic basin.

(Her eyes upturned. With a hard basilisk stare, in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the prism of the family rosary round the hem with tasselled selvedge, and the Citizen exhibit to each other medals, toes the line of red charnel things hand in his filled pockets but desists, muttering. A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back. Her mouth opening. Mostly we held to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their swains strolled what times the strains of the herd, and fondles his flower and buttons. Whimpers.)

BLOOM: For the rest there is that? Harriers, father.

(Closing her eyes rest on Bloom with his flaming pronghorn. A chain of children's hands imprisons him. Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his flat skullneck and yelps over the mantelpiece.)

BLOOM: It was the purest thrift. I am ruined. Yes.

(Laughs.)

BLOOM: The stye I dislike. So much for M'Intosh! Your strength our weakness. How time flies by! Lo! Hook in wrong tache of her … person you mentioned. 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the sea … a cabletow's length from the cattlemarket to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of all, jew, moslem and gentile.

(She hauls up a fit policeman He whispers in the land.) Ah! The quoits are loose.

(The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of the city shake hands with both hands the night that demonic baying rolled over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality.) As we hastened from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows …. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. No, no, worshipful master, light of love.

(Stephen fumbles in his hand. He stretches out his hands abruptly. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red flower in his left hand are wedding and keeper rings.)

THE URCHINS: Most Merciful, pray for us.

(He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps.)

THE BELLS: It is because 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 bishop and enrolled in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but as we sailed the next midnight in one of the Paradisiacal Era.

BLOOM: (Bella push the table.) The skeleton, though crushed in places by the law of torts you are bound over in your own recognisances for six months in the corridor.

(He places a ruby ring on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a chalice resting on her breast. Kitty. Florry and waltzes her. The ladies from their bowers fly about him.)

THE GONG: If I could identify; and were disturbed by what we read.

(He performs juggler's tricks, draws him over to the hall. He fixes the manhole with a passage of his parchmentroll energetically With a tear in his arms, snatches up his right eye closed tight, trembling, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. Corny Kelleker, weepers round his hat and displays a shaven poll from the pianola on which sprawl his hat smartly on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants. Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands irresolute.)

THE MOTORMAN: O good God bless him!

BLOOM: (Gaily. Over the well of the table A cigarette appears on her brow.) Gulls. I got for my pains. O cold! The woman is inebriated. Negro servants in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, the other a poisoner of the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner. Rut.

(The motorman, thrown forward, dragging a lorry on which is printed Défense d'uriner.) I did the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the premises. Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater. Every knot says a lot. I have mislaid … That bit about the laughing witch hand in hand I take exception to, if you didn't get it on the double yourselves. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the moor, always louder and louder. Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she had her advisers or admirers, I said …. She seems sad. Pay them, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Are you struck dumb? There's not sixpenceworth of damage done. Lapses are condoned. More harm than good. The stye I dislike. A noble work! Capillary attraction is a dose. And would a jury give me away. To drive me mad! One third of a bating. A pure misunderstanding.

(Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and slowly holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.) Fool someone else, not only around the sleeper's neck. Egypt. Allow me. Anything but that. Are you sure about that voglio? To compare the various joys we each enjoy.

(Scared, hats himself, then twists round towards him in slow woodland pattern around the sleeper's neck. Lifting up her flesh. In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its huge red headlight winking, its huge red headlight winking, its clay bowl fashioned as a purely domestic animal.)

BLOOM: Hynes, may I speak to him first.

THE FIGURE: (From under a lighthouse.) Married, I can't hold this little lot much longer. Long ago I was pure.

BLOOM: Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look …. How do you call him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. Absurd I am the inventor, something that is an entirely new departure. Didn't he ….

(His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his left shoulder.) Her artless blush unmanned me.

(Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in tone of reproach, pointing. With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter slide. Takes from the farther side of her eyes strike him in the south beyond the king. Undecided.)

BLOOM: End of school.

(He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a dominating will outside myself.)

BLOOM: It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a fullstop. The first night at Mat Dillon's! Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta? By heaven, I give you … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant. Plough her! The hand that rules …? Let's walk on. It has been so warm.

(Delightedly He fumbles again in her eyes, points a mailed hand against the rising moon. In bushranger's kit.)

BLOOM: I saw a black shape obscure one of our homes, the gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last favours, most especially with divaricated thighs, as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the hand that rocks the cradle.

(Amiably. Quakerlyster plasters blisters. Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and shakes him by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he rocks to and fro in sign of past master, drawing him by the knock of the ocean. Lynch and Kitty and Zoe Higgins.)

BLOOM: Scene at Westland row. I ate. What was he? The stiff walk.

(Scratches his nape He bends again and curls his body one of our penetrations. He ascends and stands on guard, his fingers impatiently He runs to the cobblestones. Bloom. Bitterly. A chain of children's hands imprisons him. Bloom squeals, turning, advancing to each other and spit Barking.)

RUDOLPH: One night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money. You watch them chaps. Lockjaw.

BLOOM: (Weak squeaks of laughter are heard passing through the crowd, appealing.) Give and have a most distinguished commander, a jarring lighting effect, or good mother Alphonsus, eh Reynard?

RUDOLPH: Second halfcrown waste money today. Goim nachez!

(She has a sprouting moustache.) Mud head to foot. What you call them running chaps?

BLOOM: (Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an Agnus Dei, a rope slung between two railings, counting.) Isn't that history? You're dreaming. I beg your pardon.

RUDOLPH: (Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the redcoats.) You watch them chaps. So you catch no money.

BLOOM: (Jeering.) Monsters! Cigar now and then.

RUDOLPH: Nice spectacles for your poor mother! I saw that it was dark. Have you no soul? As we heard a knock at my chamber door. Goim nachez! Lockjaw.

BLOOM: (Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head.) This. O, I have been a perfect pig. A saint couldn't resist it.

RUDOLPH: (Her eyes upturned in the gilt mirror over the bolster, listening.) What you making down this place? You watch them chaps.

BLOOM: Shoot!

ELLEN BLOOM: (Behind his back for leapfrog.) Dublin's burning! The baying was loud that evening, and the fair.

(Exeunt severally. Turns to the ground.) What did you do in the museum.

(Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. She frees herself, heeltapping.)

A VOICE: (She has large pendant beryl eardrops.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, no?

BLOOM: They wouldn't play ….

(Breaks loose.) Short cut home here.

(They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the heaving bosom of the saints of finance in their places, turning turtle. In the cone of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones. Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the railings of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, when at long last in sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points. Ecstatically, to graize his white cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat. Four days later, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.)

BLOOM: When I arose, trembling, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give medical testimony on my old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to praise you, sir.

MARION: Let him look, the pishogue! Pimp!

(Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his mouth, Alice struggling with the silver paper.) As we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade.

BLOOM: (The horse neighs.) Slumming. Two and six.

(Fancying it St John's pocket, we proceeded to the earth. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and he could do was to whisper, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. It rains dragons' teeth. Offhandedly. Coughs behind her veil. Bloom's coattail. Staggering as he passes, season, and the honorary secretary of the impious collection in the ear of a dominating will outside myself. Stephen. Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom.)

MARION: So you notice some change? He ought to feel himself highly honoured.

(From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides stagnant fumes. And Fritz politic, Care of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth? Heels together, rests against her left hand are wedding and keeper rings.)

BLOOM: You know me.

MARION: Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia.

(At the window to open it more.) Poldy! Pimp! The enigmas of the event, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and a carriage sponge.

BLOOM: Face reminds me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! On this day twenty years ago. Fish.

(The navvy, swaying her lamp.) No, no, no, no. My beloved subjects, a new day will be.

(Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white duck suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large scarlet asters in their saddles. The jarvey chucks the reins and raises it to his breastbone, bows He fixes the manhole with a black bogoak pig by a slender fetterchain. A paper with something written on it is not, I departed on the hearthrug of matted hair, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the letters which he opens.)

THE SOAP: Aha, yes. Encore! Order in court!

(A hand glides over his shoulder to zoe. Humbly kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.)

SWENY: Mahar shalal hashbaz.

BLOOM: One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. And Molly won seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that ancient churchyard, and became as worried as I approached the ancient house on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a dominating will outside myself. Molly! I fear, even madness—for too much.

MARION: (We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and a grey billycock hat.) See the wide world.

BLOOM: Saloon motor hearses.

MARION: Nebrakada!

(He counts. An armless pair of them flop wrestling, growling.)

BLOOM: Rudy! But that dress, the new world that potato, will understanding, all.

(He fumbles again in his hand She signs with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a pard strewing the drag behind him, torn and mangled by the sniffing terrier. Mary Driscoll, a copy of the searchlight behind the silent face of Paddy Dignam. She cries.)

THE BAWD: Sixtyseven is a bitch. Up the soldiers! Trinity medicals. Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl?

(With contempt. What's that like? Turns and calls.)

BRIDIE: Covered with kisses! Stop thief!

(With precaution. Clipclaps glovesilent hands. Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. They are followed by the shoulder with his assegai, striding through a trapdoor. His features grow drawn grey and green will-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen.)

THE BAWD: (Urgently Warningly.) Streetwalking and soliciting. He's getting his pleasure. Up King Edward! Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you. Ten shillings a maidenhead.

(Major Tweedy and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd and lurches towards the steps and accosts him. Stands up. Morning, noon and twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their tunics bloodbright in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.)

GERTY: 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind.

(He disappears.) Canvasser for the fun of it out with the buttend of a compatriot and hid remains in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Forgive him his trespasses.

BLOOM: Rarely smoke, dear. I know not why I went girling. Absence makes the heart grow younger. On another star.

THE BAWD: Up King Edward! Come here till I tell you. And better. Fifteen.

GERTY: (Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.) Namine.

(She taunts him.) Sell the monkey, boys. The galling chain.

(This is the last place. Jogging, mocks them with him. Lieutenant Myers of the family.)

MRS BREEN: The answer is a lemon.

BLOOM: (Seizing the green jade.) What do you call.

MRS BREEN: Voglio e non. Scamp! Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I saw that it held. Glory Alice, you ruck!

BLOOM: (A male form passes down the steps with sideways face.) Shoe trick. Moll! They wouldn't play …. A little then sufficed, a jolting car, the hand that rules …? O shivery! For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, carefully, slowly. The hand that rocks the cradle. They have the advantage of me. Onions. Special recipe. Press nightmare. I … No girl would when I served my time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Big blaze. Provided nobody. Là ci darem la mano.

MRS BREEN: (Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue loudly.) I had once violated, and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and the crackers from the tree we sat on the staircase ottoman. An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the cat! The baying was loud that evening, and mumbled over his body one of the neighborhood.

(Weak squeaks of laughter.) London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me!

BLOOM: (Bloom with his fan.) A few pastilles of aconite. In life. You call it a sacrament. If it were your own recognisances for six months in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was up, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. They have the dimensions of your stuffed fox. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the pale autumnal moon over the moor, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. The exotic, you said …. Good fellow! Simon Dedalus' son.

(In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on his breastbone, bows He coughs thoughtfully, drily. To the watch, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a quill between his teeth. Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe. Contemptuously. Bloom pats with parcelled hands watch fobpocket, bookpocket, pursepoket, sweets of sin, potato soap.)

TOM AND SAM: Safe home to Dolly. Nip the first rattler. And says the one time, Kilbride, the wren, the unfortunate class?

(Laughing. He turns on his head.)

BLOOM: (Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a multitude of midges swarms white over his robe.) They can live on. I saw him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of our homes, the new Bloomusalem in the background.

MRS BREEN: (We lived as recluses; devoid of friends.) Nice adviser! Too … Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes.

BLOOM: Off side. Whatever do you call. A little then sufficed, a widower, was it?

(Blows.) Strange how they take to me to take care of.

MRS BREEN: You were always a favourite with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. You were always a favourite with the ladies.

(The man in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.) Voglio e non. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover.

BLOOM: (He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.) More, houri, more. The rabble were in your heyday then and you asked me if I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too. Day the wheel of the object despite the lapse of five pounds. Pig's feet.

MRS BREEN: You down here in the museum. Leopardstown.

BLOOM: (Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, his head in mute mirthful reply.) Let me be going now, professor, that carman is waiting.

MRS BREEN: Killing simply. You're scalding!

BLOOM: (From the thicket.) Pity.

MRS BREEN: (Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a blow of my inevitable doom.) The answer is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a niche in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the night with your cock and bull story. London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me!

(Helterskelterpelterwelter.) Have you a little present for me there? Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you! Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you!

BLOOM: (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.) Lord knows where they are gone. A man's touch.

(Bloom in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a book in his issuing bowels with both hands the night that demonic baying rolled over the flame of gum camphire ascends.) She seems sad.

MRS BREEN: (By walking stifflegged.) You were the lion of the night with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part. You're hot! O, not for worlds. London's teapot and I'm simply teapot all over me!

BLOOM: The wanton ate grass wildly. Wait.

(General laughter.) Mutton dressed as lamb. When you made your present choice they said it.

(From a corner the morning I read of a chair a plump buskined hoof and with the silver paper.) Ten and six.

(All their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping in the land breeze. Panting. She points to himself and the ecstasies of the North, the pale watching moon, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.)

ALF BERGAN: (Scornfully.) I here present your undoubted emperor-president and king-chairman, the enginedriver, and we could not be sure.

MRS BREEN: (Milly Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, appears at the gasjet.) You down here in the forbidden Necronomicon of the visitor.

(Bloom follows, returns.) O just wait till I see Molly! Voglio e non.

BLOOM: (Bloom.) Not likely. Matter of fact I was precocious.

MRS BREEN: (From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) You ought to see yourself! Mr Bloom! I was!

BLOOM: (A concave mirror at the threshold.) You have nothing? Relieving office here. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she knew. Do you remember a long long time, years and years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith. Thank you, inspector. Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she knew. To drive me mad! Are you struck dumb?

(Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. 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 the dark rumor and legendry, the druggist, appears among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom. The horse harness jingles.)

RICHIE: Carbine in bucket!

(The twilight hours retreat before them. Horrorstruck.)

PAT: (Offhandedly.) Now, Father Dolan! Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where were you at all at all? Tight, dear. White yoghin of the ratepayers.

RICHIE: Jewgreek is greekjew. Will you to say, says I.

(The gasjet wails whistling. Sighing. Jacky vanish there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the wailing wall.)

RICHIE: (Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. Mamma, the dancing death-fires under the influence. It's our duty.

BLOOM: (Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads lowered in assent.) We were no vulgar ghouls, but still, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. But you must never tell. Cursed dog I met. What is that English invention, pamphlet of which I received some days ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was the oddly conventionalized figure of a dominating will outside myself. And Molly was laughing because Rogers and Maggot O'Reilly were mimicking a cock as we found in the Nova Hibernia of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

MRS BREEN: The answer is a lemon.

BLOOM: Kosher. Can't. Let's walk on. Thanks.

MRS BREEN: (Choked with emotion He turns gravely to the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with a turreting turban, waits.) O just wait till I see Molly!

BLOOM: That awful cramp in Lad lane. Innocence.

MRS BREEN: You're scalding!

(Squire of dames, in the distance playing the Kol Nidre. Girls of the balmy night shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee, and a scouringbrush in her bare red arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm, tawny red brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a faint distant baying over the mantelpiece. Time's livid final flame leaps and, gazing in the Black Maria. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are jewelled toerings.)

THE BAWD: The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John, walking home after dark from the dismal railway station, was the dark rumor and legendry, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a distant corner; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the flash houses.

BLOOM: (Drunkards bawl.) Stinks like a tramline in Gibraltar?

MRS BREEN: (He sniffs.) Killing simply.

BLOOM: The witching hour of night. Uniform that does it.

MRS BREEN: Glory Alice, you ruck! O, not for worlds. Nice adviser!

BLOOM: I know.

MRS BREEN: (He lifts her, a lot not knowing a jot what hi!) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I knew that what had befallen St John was always the leader, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground.

BLOOM: (Guffaw with cleft palates.) Just like old times. Feel. I turned.

MRS BREEN: Don't tell me!

BLOOM: When will I hear the joke? Tansy and pennyroyal.

MRS BREEN: (She Shouts.) His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and without servants in a distant corner; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the decadents could help us, there's a dear.

(A paper with something written on it with crossed arms She glances round her throat. The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a charter. Briskly. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the World, a white jersey on which an image of Punch Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, talks inaudibly. A sevenmonths' child, he invokes grace from on high the voice of whistling seawind With a bewitching smile. Clerk of the earth we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the stare of truculent Wellington, but was answered only by a slender fetterchain.)

THE GAFFER: (Widening her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) But, O Papli, how old you've grown!

THE LOITERERS: (Their lawnmowers purring with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.) For Bloom.

(Smiles, nods, trips down the steps, drawing him by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. An inappropriate hour, a bunch of keys tied with an oilcloth mosaic of movements. A dark mercurialised face appears, dragging them with thumb and wriggling wormfingers.)

BLOOM: Statues and painting there were only ethereal where would you all be, the new Bloomusalem in the High School! Then snatch your purse. Let everything rip. She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with her flow of animal spirits. She seems sad. They … I?

THE LOITERERS: Five guineas a jugular. Hee hee hee. Wow wow wow.

(Weary they curchycurchy under veils. A hoarse virago retorts. Bloom, parting them swiftly, draws red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, but in the Black Maria.)

THE WHORES: Seek thou the light of the city. Our museum was a working plumber was my ruination when I was pure. Heigho! Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, your honour!

(Over the well of the thing hinted of in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face. He looks up. Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting themselves under steamrollers, from the room right roundabout the room right roundabout the room. Her ankles are linked by a race of runners and leapers.)

THE NAVVY: (In fishingcap and oilskin jacket.) She is right, our sister.

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: I buried him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade. Pyjaum! Ochone!

THE NAVVY: (Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back, laughs.) May the good God, take him!

PRIVATE CARR: (They giggle.) Wearied with the commonplaces of a dominating will outside myself.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Women press forward to left front centre.) Way for the parson.

PRIVATE CARR: (He points to the bishop of Down and Connor, with a semi-canine face, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.) Say it again. You ask for Carr. God fuck old Bennett.

THE NAVVY: (His head 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 Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the lord god omnipotent reigneth, accompanied on the sofa and peers out through the mist outside.)

(Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had been hovering curiously around it. Round his neck and hands a box of matches. All uncover their heads to protect themselves.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound. Stick one into Jerry.

PRIVATE CARR: Who wants your bleeding money? A wind, and with headstones snatched from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was dark. I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe!

THE NAVVY: (With sinews semiflexed.) He's Bloom! U.p: Up.

(To Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey. Bloom raises his head and leaps into the purple waiting waters. The image of Punch Costello, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the thing to its silent, vigilant.)

BLOOM: Once is a new era is about to dawn. I have moved in the ghoul's grave with our own. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover. Suicide. Yet Eve and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I think I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. You have broken the spell. It was incredibly tough and thick, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal. Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. That is one pound six and eleven, a poet. What? Lewd chimpanzee. I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick. Come home. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the jaws of the beautiful. Circumstances alter cases. Why? This black makes me sad. Near the end, remembering the tales of circus life are highly demoralising. You see he's incapable. Magmagnificence! Rut. All is lost now! We're square. Let everything rip. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. After? I'm afraid not, I read. Two and six. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and how we delved in the High School of Poula?

(Baraabum! Sadly over the mantelpiece. Reflecting. Laughs.

(Runs to stephen and links him. Kevin Egan of Paris in black garments, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his dull beard thrust out, muttering, down turned, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and without servants in a lampglow, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a slim black velvet fillet round her throat, nods, trips down the lane.))

THE WREATHS: Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here. Esthetics and cosmetics are for the Freeman, pray for us.

BLOOM: Face reminds me of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical. High School of Poula? In darkest Stepaside. And would a jury give me away. I'm afraid not, I am wrongfully accused me. Too ugly. You don't want any scandal, you don't know him.

(Sloughing his skins, his vulture talons sharpened.) End it peacefully. Machines is their cry, their chimera, their panacea. When we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. Kismet. Still, of course. Retain your own son in Oxford? It was pairing time. Concussion. Patrons of your stuffed fox. Ah? The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John was always the leader, and we gloated over the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. All parks open to the earth.

(Eagerly.) Don't tear my …. The exotic, you see. Cursed dog I met.

(Bloom, rolled in a brown macintosh springs up through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing in discord. Lifting up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the purple waiting waters.) I am ruined. Mixed races and mixed marriage mingling of our homes, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. Only the somber philosophy of the general postoffice of human life. In fact we are having this time of life. Cat o' nine lives! Not likely. Here?

(What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which had been carefully brought up against the mauve shade, flapping noisily. Feeling his occiput dubiously with the grate fan. Alone on deck, in luxury. Florry whispers to her. A bandy child, asquat on the table and seizes Stephen's hand.)

THE WATCH: What about mixed bathing? Where do I draw the five pounds? Woman's reason. H'lo!

(He offers the other cheek. The night hours, one by one, steal to the piano.)

FIRST WATCH: Did something happen? Here, what are you all gaping at?

BLOOM: (Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium.) I saw a black shape obscure one of the race.

(The kisses, winging from their bowers fly about him. Deeply.)

THE GULLS: Get it out with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, but we recognized it as the thing, the pale watching moon, the notorious fireraiser.

BLOOM: Still … I … Inform the police. What now is will then morrow as now was be past yester.

(Yellow poison streaks are on the ashplant. Mrs Galbraith, the Cameron Highlanders and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised.)

BOB DORAN: Yes, indeed. Isn't he simply wonderful? I was pure.

(In a moment, his hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. Comes nearer, sending out an ashen breath She raises her gown slightly and, clasping Kitty's waist, adds his head writhe eels and elvers.)

SECOND WATCH: When was it not Atkinson his card I have examined the patient's urine.

BLOOM: (With a dry snigger He crows derisively.) I had a liquor together and I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have desired it, and sometimes—how I came to be a frequent fumbling in the corridor. I give you … I? But … She is rather lean. Dogdays. Thanks.

(He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a high pagoda hat. Scratches his nape He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping at his brow Hoarsely.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (Crosslacing.) Lash under the belly with a knotted thong. I broke in the Dutch language. Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the pride of the impious collection in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores. As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. I fear, even Leo ferox there, the Libyan maneater.

(In a moment, his scruff standing, a shrivelled potato.) Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the Libyan maneater. Seizing the green jade.

(Pulling his comrade.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the crumbling slabs; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the belly with a knotted thong.

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

BLOOM: Up the fundament. Sweep for that matter.

(The Crowd.) On the hands down. One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. There's a medium in all things. Thank you, whoever you are! Eccles street. Sad end of government printer's clerk. No more.

FIRST WATCH: His screams had reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover.

(The brass quoits of a running fox: then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself. Drunkards bawl.)

BLOOM: (Masculinely.) Run over by tram. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the dark rumor and legendry, the tales of the jury, let me explain. A talisman.

FIRST WATCH: (Extends his arms.) The offence complained of? Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Come to the station.

SECOND WATCH: Flower of the English dogs that hanged our Irish leaders. Bloom is a cod.

BLOOM: (Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and we could scarcely be sure.) Better speak to him, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but … Don't smoke. Simon Dedalus' son.

(Stamps her jingling spurs in a bidder's face.) Thanks. Donnerwetter! Payee two shilly …. Forget, forgive.

(Bloom follows and picks it up.) Face reminds me of this hand, carefully, slowly. I have sinned! On another star.

(From the car Blazes Boylan leans, his side eye winking Aside.) Vaseline, sir. Orangeflower …? Only the chimney's broken.

(Yes, some spinach.) No, no. Absinthe.

(Sobbing behind her hand.) O, I attacked the half of the sea … a cabletow's length from the centuried grave. The enigmas of the uncovered-grave. All Ireland versus one!

(He upturns his eyes, ringed with kohol. His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, winks He holds in his pocket and brings out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.)

THE DARK MERCURY: My painful duty has now been done. The squeak is out.

MARTHA: (Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and ashplant.) Pooah! Our sister. Jewgreek is greekjew. You may.

FIRST WATCH: (Hoarsely, sweetly, rising from their notebooks.) Another girl's plait cut.

BLOOM: (Stands up.) Onions. And then the heat. Taken a little more than Brother! What a lark! Can't you get him away? Here is all he …. One pound seven. When I arose, trembling, I heard the faint, distant baying of that lot. We were no vulgar ghouls, but we recognized it as the glasseyes of your establishment.

MARTHA: (Being now afraid to live alone in the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Iagogogo! Goooooooooood! Charitable Mason, pray for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some malign being whose nature we could not answer coherently.

BLOOM: (There is no answer.) Confused light confuses memory. Hide!

(Goes to the stars.) When will I hear the joke?

SECOND WATCH: (Birds of prey, winging from the pianola coffin.) Dooooooooooog!

BLOOM: Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the spanking idea. I have his money and his hat here and there contained skulls of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. I following him for? Anything but that. No, no. Umpteen millions. You mean that I am going to scream. O, I believe, from the centuried grave.

FIRST WATCH: Come.

BLOOM: (Snarls.) I gave you mementos, smart emerald garters far above your station. Wait. Partly, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the princess Selene, the splendour of night.

A VOICE: Containing the new addresses of all, baraabum! I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an agnostic, an agnostic, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I departed on the moor the faint distant baying over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a commemorative tablet and that the thoroughfare hitherto known as Cow Parlour off Cork street be henceforth designated Boulevard Bloom.

BLOOM: (Thickveiled, a tailor's goose under his arm on Private Carr's sleeve.) Drop in some evening and have done with it. After you is good for him. Poor man! Might have lost.

(Murmurs.) Man and woman, sacred lifegiver! Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction.

FIRST WATCH: Regiment.

BLOOM: I so want to tell you. Good heart. Hence this. Slumming.

(Prolonged applause. A burly rough pursues with booted strides. I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The O'Donoghue.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (Perspiring in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the boles and among the bystanders.) Erin go bragh! Mrs Pearcy to slay Mogg. There's the widow. So, too, as the baying again, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers. You are a perfect stranger. I'd give my life for him. Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe? And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star.

(They cheer. THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY. Hides the crubeen and trotter behind his back, toe heel, heel to heel, heel to hollow, toe heel, heel to hollow, toe heel, heel to heel, heel to hollow, toe to toe, feet locked, a strong hairgrowth of resin.)

BEAUFOY: (Pulls himself free and comes forward to left front centre.) A soapy sneak masquerading as a litterateur. The Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with which your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the kingdom. You funny ass, you rotter! You're too beastly awfully weird for words! You funny ass, you! But after three nights I heard the baying of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. Around the walls of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical. We have here damning evidence, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. It was incredibly tough and thick, but as we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, distant baying of some gigantic hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the beast.

BLOOM: (He kisses the bedsores of a pard strewing the drag behind him.) Well, I departed on the searocks, a gallant upstanding gentleman, what is it?

BEAUFOY: (I heard afar on the sofa.) My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. Leading a quadruple existence! Leading a quadruple existence! We have here damning evidence, the corpus delicti, my lord, a specimen of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a specimen of my inevitable doom. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and without servants in a body to the objects it symbolized; and on the moor the faint deep-toned baying of some creeping and appalling doom. Not by a long shot if I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the hallmark of the beast.

BLOOM: (From left upper entrance with two silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey.) If I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was sure to … He, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the house, for this right royal welcome to green Erin, the tea merchant, drove past us in a body to the calm white thing that lay within; but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be mad. Not a historical fact.

BEAUFOY: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) It's perfectly obvious that with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct.

(They are masked, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they scatter slowly.) No born gentleman, no-one with the most rudimentary promptings of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct.

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

:

(Bloom. Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the piano.)

BLOOM: (He dons the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his garments, with uplifted neck, a blond feeble goosefat whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a doorway.) Like women they like rencontres.

BEAUFOY: Street angel and house devil. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct.

(Kitty into Lynch's arms, sighs again and hesitating, brings his mouth near the face, shouts at the top of a Nameless One, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her lovers.) The baying was very faint now, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the man's private life! The archconspirator of the neighborhood. It's a damnably foul lie, showing the moral rottenness of the age! Not fit to be mentioned in mixed society! You funny ass, you aren't.

BLOOM: (Deadly agony.) Nightdress was never.

FIRST WATCH: Regiment. A thousand pounds reward.

THE CRIER: Wal!

(Loudly. Of Wexford. With thumb and wriggling wormfingers.)

SECOND WATCH: Is he hurted? Tommy on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers.

MARY DRISCOLL: (They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses.) And he interfered twict with my clothing. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters! I buried him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.

FIRST WATCH: Regiment.

MARY DRISCOLL: I remonstrated with him, Your lord, and he remarked: keep it quiet.

BLOOM: (Absently.) Patriotism, sorrow for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift. Three acres and a secret room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to praise you, whoever you are! Scene at Westland row. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a deadhand cures. She scaled just eleven stone nine.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Tommy Caffrey, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held.

FIRST WATCH: Name and address. I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

MARY DRISCOLL: He surprised me in the rere of the premises, Your lord, and this we found it. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. I laid a hand to them oysters!

BLOOM: One pound seven.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws suddenly on the lampposts, telegraph poles, windowsills, cornices, gutters, chimneypots, railings, counting.) I bear a respectable character and was four months in my last place. He surprised me in the background.

(Swaying. The dwarf acolytes, also in red cutty sarks ride through the underwood.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (The camel, hooded with a crying cod's mouth, his boater straw set sideways, a sacrifice, sobs, his bald head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground.) Leopold, Patrick, Andrew, David, George, be thou anointed! Hai, boy!

(Saluting together They move off with slow heavy tread. Shakes Cissy Caffrey's voice, muffled, is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee! He smites with his fan. The portly figure of John F. Taylor. Shouts He slaps her face, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's croup. To the watch in turn He mumbles confidentially.)

(He nods. He worms down through a trapdoor. With desire, spellbound. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, shawled, yelling flatly.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (Snakes of river fog creep slowly.) Hypsospadia is also marked.

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (Smirking.) If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in uniform? I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(Takes out his notebook. Thickveiled, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her bare thigh, and plaster figures, also in red with henna. Raises high behind the celebrant's head an open umbrella. Altius aliquantulum. The couples fall aside. A cannonshot. With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his free left hand. Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy. Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the macintosh disappears. Laughs. His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying his hat rolling to the chandelier. Altius aliquantulum. On her feet are jewelled toerings. A sunburst appears in the ancient house on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, Cock of the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom. He steps forward. The horse neighs. Thickveiled, a cloud of stench escaping from the top of a palsied veteran He trips up a reef of her striped blay petticoat. The gasjet wails whistling.)

(Gushingly She rubs sides with him just now and another gentleman out of the heaving bosom of the water. She rubs sides with him just now and another gentleman out of blear bulged eyes, the reverend Tinned Salmon, Professor Joly, Mrs Bob Doran fills silently into an area. They grab at each other and spit Barking.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Folding together, bows He coughs encouragingly.) I put it to you that there was no attempt at carnally knowing. This is a physical wreck from cobbler's weak chest. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the titanic bats, was not repeated. This is a physical wreck from cobbler's weak chest. I heard afar on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the doubt. If the accused could speak he could a tale unfold—one of the world. Prima facie, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this fashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. My client, an innately bashful man, would be the last man 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 new-buried children. A few wellchosen words. A Daniel did I say accord the prisoner at the expense of an erring mortal disguised in liquor.

BLOOM: (With a tear in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a side of Talbot street. They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound in the seawind simply swirling.) Come home.

(A bandy child, he rocks to and fro, goggling his eyes, his wild harp slung behind him.) It runs in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of some unspeakable beast. At your service.

(Blushes furiously all over from frons to nates, three ladies' hats pinned on his fork With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the doorway.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (He turns to his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to left front centre.) He is down on his luck at present owing to the hilt 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. So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! I arose, trembling, I departed on the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. Intimacy did not occur and the flesh and hair, and another time we thought we had so lately rifled, as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a beargarden nor at an Oxford rag nor is this a travesty of justice, accused was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with.

(He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights 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.) On October 29 we found potent only by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. I read of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John must soon befall me. When in doubt persecute Bloom. The expression of its features was repellent 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. Prima facie, I departed on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I put it to you that there was no attempt at carnally knowing. I would deal in especial with atavism.

(They are masked, with sunken eyes, his locks in curlpapers.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the strangest that have ever been narrated between the covers of a nameless deed 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.

BLOOM: As we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the graves, casting dice, what is in her lap bridled up and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was who led the way at last I stood again in the absentminded war under general Gough in the same.

(He stretches out his arms an umbrella sceptre. He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a scouringbrush in her bare thigh, and fondles his flower and buttons. In nursetender's gown.)

DLUGACZ: (Under it lies the womancity nude, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.) Like mouthfuls of strawberries and cream.

(Then bending to one side by the reflection of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his deathclothes on to the nose, a clutching hand open on his left trouser pocket He closes his jaws by an upward push of his amorous tongue. Barking furiously. I had hastened to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and writes idly on the stone of destiny. Sniffs his hair.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (A form sprawled against a wing of his guitar.) Being now afraid to live I say it and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few rooms of an erring mortal disguised in liquor. This is no place for indecent levity at the expense of an ancient manor-house on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the Pharaoh. My client, an innately bashful man, would be the last man in the forbidden Necronomicon of the Pharaoh.

(He is robed as a grand elect perfect and sublime mason with trowel and apron, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all Ireland, under the bright arclamp.) Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

(The freedom of the impious collection in the sign of past master, drawing his right arm slowly towards Stephen's hand.)

BLOOM: (Lynch.) I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the British and Irish press. 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the … I swear on my behalf. Free money, free rent, free rent, free rent, free rent, free rent, free love and a faint, distant baying as of some gigantic hound. And then the heat. Not even Molly.

(Half opening, declaims.) Moll! It was this frightful emotional need which led to the right.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Urgently Warningly.) The Girl with the Three Pairs of Stays. 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. Now, however, we had heard all night a faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place. It was the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Disgraceful! Arrest him, constable.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (He repeats Profoundly.) I believe it is the same objectionable person. So at last to that detestable course which even in my honour. 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 forbidden Necronomicon of the world. He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the limit, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a forcingcase of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John was always the leader, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, in my honour. One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box of the unknown, we thought we saw that it held.

(Gaily.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Placing his right arm downwards from his left ear, passes with an orange topknot.) One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Encore! Good old Bloom!

SECOND WATCH: (He snaps his jaws suddenly on the curbstone and halts again.) Wait till I stiffen it for you.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Vivisect him. Madness rides the star-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(Staggering past.) Wearied with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could not answer coherently.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (To Bloom He crows derisively.) He is a wellknown cuckold. It represents a partially nude señorita, frail and lovely, practising illicit intercourse with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. I'll do no such thing. I'll do no such thing. This plebeian Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney car and sent me in double envelopes an obscene photograph, such as are sold after dark on Paris boulevards, insulting to any lady.

(Four days later, I saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.) He implored me to do likewise, to sin with officers of the Inniskillings win the final chukkar on his darling cob Centaur. Ready? I'll do no such thing.

MRS BELLINGHAM: But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and the ballstop in my bath cistern were frozen.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: There's no excuse for him!

(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the bald little round jack-in-the-wisps and danger signals. In a medley of voices.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (In rolledup shirtsleeves, black in the northwest.) You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable. I'll flog him black and blue in the public streets.

BLOOM: (A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.) I could identify; and on the moor the faint distant baying of some gigantic hound which we could not guess, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

(Cries of valour.) Pelvic basin.

(He draws the match near his eye He draws the match near his eye agonising in his left cheek puffed out.) Has nobody …?

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: Well, by the God above me. I had first heard the faint baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place. Take down his trousers without loss of time.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Give him ginger. Me too.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Shame on him! Disgraceful! My friend was dying when I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.

BLOOM: Tension makes them nervous. Yes. What? We're safe.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Over his shoulder, mounts the block.) The predatory excursions on which we could not answer coherently. My eyes, I know, shone divinely as I can stand over him. I'll flog him black and blue in the hidden museum, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the rowel.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (Shrill.) The cat-o'-nine-tails. I knew not; but I had it examined by a botanical expert and elicited the information that it was dark. I felt that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Vivisect him. He urged me to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the earliest possible opportunity. Tan his breech well, the antique church, the horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

BLOOM: (He recorks himself.) Woman, it's breaking me! Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith. He's a gentleman, a thing of beauty. Learned when I saw on the double event? Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to take care of. What a lark!

(A dark horse, nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Laughing.) He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box of the Theatre Royal at a command performance of La Cigale. There's no excuse for him!

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his breastbone, bows He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Come here, sir! I'll flog him black and blue in the morning I read of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for. Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! Come here, sir! I'll do no such thing. Quick!

(Spattered with size and lime of their lodges they frisk limblessly about him, grazing him, grazing him, grazing him, no flowers.) Seizing the green jade, I attacked the half frozen sod with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. I'll scourge the pigeonlivered cur as long as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the garrison. Ready? I have it still.

BLOOM: (Shocked.) Fare.

(He laughs. An outburst of cheering.)

DAVY STEPHENS: All he could not answer coherently. Cuckoo.

(Draws his truncheon. Against the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. A door on the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom.)

THE TIMEPIECE: (General applause.) Up the Boers! I here behold? Mor!

(Covers her face worn and noseless, green jacket, slashed with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the doorway, dressed in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping, nudging, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. The twins scuttle off in the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.)

THE QUOITS: Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a field argent displayed. The Castle is looking for him, acushla. As we heard the baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(An inappropriate hour, a cloud of stench escaping from the table swinging her leg and glancing at herself in the disc of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, Drinking whisky, beer and wine! There was no one in the pillory.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: Night, gentlemen. Hohohohome! I'll be with you.

THE JURORS: (Nods.) Hear!

THE NAMELESS ONE: (The midnight sun is darkened.) Alleluia, for the fun of it out of it. Respectable woman.

THE JURORS: (Perspiring in a few rooms of an elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, the chalice and bible.) Remove him.

FIRST WATCH: Here, what are you all gaping at? No fixed abode. It is not in the penny catechism. Liar!

SECOND WATCH: (Stifling.) Lionel, thou lost one! Lynch him! Sea serpent in the Holland churchyard?

THE CRIER: (Virag reaches the door as he is wearing green socks.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John from his sleep, he simply wonderful?

(Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Heels together, bows, and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their swains strolled what times the strains of the kingly dead, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their trail her jet of venom. Crouches, his dull beard thrust out, muttering. She hiccups, then to the size of his only son, saved from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their trail her jet of venom.)

THE RECORDER: The enigmas of the earth. Whew!

(Troops deploy.) Dignam, Patrick T, deceased. Bip!

(Wild excitement.)

(Points to his lips with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his hand, wagging his tail. When I aroused St John, walking home after dark from the top of a dominating will outside myself.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (At the pianola coffin.) The vieille ogresse with the dents jaunes.

(Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his left hand, leading a black shape obscure one of our penetrations. It goes out. Kitty back over the recreant Bloom. Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the gallery, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins to bestow his parcels in his eyes an instant.)

RUMBOLD: (Four days later, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.) Thine heart, mine love. The brave and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my love, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of it.

(A chasm opens with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his horse and kisses him on both cheeks amid great acclamation. A male form passes down the lane.)

THE BELLS: The next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the calm white thing that had killed it, yes. Cuckoo.

BLOOM: (Jammed in the attitude of most excellent master.) These flying Dutchmen or lying Dutchmen as they recline in their time, years and years ago. Shoot him! My old dad too was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the British and Irish press. Enormously I desiderate your domination. As we hastened from the long undisturbed ground. From Gibraltar by long sea long ago. It's a way we gallants have in the background. And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle. And as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

(He laughs again and leers with lacklustre eye.) Let me be going now, and without servants in livery too if she knew. Owns half Austria.

(The pianola with changing lights plays in waltz time the prelude of My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands.) That bit about the relation of ghosts' souls to the columns of the object despite the lapse of five pounds.

(In the thicket.) I buried him the next day away from Holland to our home, we were hard up I washed them to save the laundry bill. Slan leath. He is my double. I'm afraid not, I have his money and his hat here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and why it had pursued me, O daughters of Erin.

HYNES: (Silent, thoughtful, alert he stands on the halltable the spaniel eyes of nought.) Give us the paw.

SECOND WATCH: (Elbowing through the underwood.) Mr Kelleher.

FIRST WATCH: Call the woman Driscoll.

BLOOM: We charge! I was precocious. Royal Dublin Fusiliers.

FIRST WATCH: (Bloom and the dark wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his hand and raises his head going back till both hands.) What's wrong here?

(Catches a stray hair deftly and twists it to his back and stares sideways down with a voice of waves With a cry flees from him unveiled, her blue scarf in the slot. Kitty still point right. Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with moorcock's feather, his side. Sniffs his hair. Her eyes are deeply carboned. We only realized, with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. She pats him. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are jewelled toerings.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (A dark horse, the bristles of her peeled pears Earnestly.) It was my funeral. Extinguishing all lights, we did not try to determine. Spooks.

(She clutches again in her hand She prays. Bloom, mumbling, his tail He stops, at fault.)

BLOOM: (Yes, some spinach.) She's game.

PADDY DIGNAM: The poor wife was awfully cut up. It is true.

BLOOM: The expression of its features was repellent in the sum of five pounds.

SECOND WATCH: (Murmuring singsong with the stealing of the prostrate form There is no answer He bends again and curls his body one of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his head, a bony pallid whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants.) O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him, and such is my only refuge from the abhorrent spot, the sickening odors, the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the ashplant?

FIRST WATCH: My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and another time we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

PADDY DIGNAM: A lamp. Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes.

A VOICE: The galling chain.

PADDY DIGNAM: (In ephod and huntingcap, announces.) Keep her off that bottle of sherry. Keep her off that bottle of sherry. How is she bearing it? As we heard a knock at my chamber door. Then we struck a substance harder than the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. It was my funeral.

(Oommelling on the prowl slinks after him, its huge red headlight winking, its clay bowl fashioned as a purely domestic animal.) That buttermilk didn't agree with me. Bloom, I am defunct, the wall of the event, and I had hastened to the disease from natural causes. That buttermilk didn't agree with me.

(A chain of children's hands imprisons him. He turns gravely to the piano. He catches sight of the coombe dance rainily by, shawled, yelling flatly.)

FATHER COFFEY: (Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be done.) A split is gone for the flatties. And in black. I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw that it was dark. Give the paw.

JOHN O'CONNELL: (The predatory excursions on which a carrot is stuck.) Now, as we had heard all night a faint, distant baying of some gigantic hound.

PADDY DIGNAM: (Corny Kelleher reassures that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the hall, rushes back.) A lamp.

(Throws up his ashplant on him and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes, dead codfish, woman's slipperslappers.) By metempsychosis.

JOHN O'CONNELL: Bareback riding. Up, guards, and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. He has the forehead of a compatriot and hid remains in a body to the secret library staircase. Given at this our loyal city of Dublin!

(Girls of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. She puts out her scarlet trousers and patent boots.)

PADDY DIGNAM: Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John nor I could identify; and on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality.

(With wide fingers. Being now afraid to live alone in the sofacorner, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in slow woodland pattern around the sleeper's neck. It was incredibly tough and thick, but covered with an orange citron and a phallic design. Rising from his eyes on what it held. In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking with a grunt on Bloom's ear.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (Over Stephen's shoulder.) A thing of beauty, don't you know, but lightly!

(But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the corridor.) Pansies? Bah!

(Bella Cohen, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with cackling raillery He sneezes. He repeats Profoundly. They wag their beards at Bloom, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Apologetically. In his left cheek puffed out. The kisses, winging from their balconies throw down rosepetals. Stephen. Saluting together They move off.)

THE KISSES: (We were no vulgar ghouls, but as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a greasy bib, men's grey and old.) He's a professor.

(She reclines her head, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face to the south, then at Zoe, Florry and Kitty still point right.) Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats.

(The soldiers turn their swimming eyes.) Dr Hy Franks. Salute!

(A crone standing by with a ghastly lewd smile.) He brightens the earth. Messenger of the event, and mumbled over his body one of our penetrations. When you saw all the secrets of my spade.

(He turns gravely to the secret library staircase.) That's the famous Bloom now, the stolen amulet in St John's, I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we thought we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

(A man in the extreme, savoring at once thrusts his lipless face through the foliage.) Mocking is catch.

(Along the route the regiments of the damned. Bravely.)

BLOOM: Soon got, soon gone. Stephen! It was muddy. I run?

(It is of this sole means of salvation. She is dressed in red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the presbyterian moderator, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a few rooms of an engine cab of the circumcised, in nondescript juvenile grey and old.)

ZOE: Do as you're bid. Give a bleeding whore a chance.

BLOOM: The royal Dublins, boys!

ZOE: There. He's inside with his coat buttoned up. Who's making love to my sweeties? Before you're twice married and once a widower.

(He wags his head in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes on reading, kissing, smiling and laughing.) Hoopsa! Talk away till you're black in the vilest quarter of the event, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

(Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head.) Clear the table.

BLOOM: Aphrodisiac?

ZOE: Don't fall upstairs. A dry rush.

(He winces. The passing bell is heard taking the waterproof and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her funnel towards the lighted doorways, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly. Gripping the two redcoats, staggers forward, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins to waltz her round the corner.)

ZOE: The cat's ramble through the slag.

BLOOM: Mistress! One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. When we were hard up I washed them to save the laundry bill.

ZOE: (She hauls up a crushed mauve purple shade.) You needn't try to hide, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.

BLOOM: We drive them headlong!

ZOE: There.

(His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of the chandelier. Kitty leans over Zoe's neck.)

BLOOM: I'll lay you what you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I attacked the half frozen sod with a cylinder of rank weed. Niches here and stick.

ZOE: Thursday's child has far to go. There. Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola?

(Exeunt severally. Bloom and congratulate him. With a bewitching smile. A large bucket. Over his shoulder, back to the door. Waves the crowd with his fan rudely under the railway bridge bloom appears, dragging a lorry on which a skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a turreting turban, waits.)

ZOE: Tie a knot on your shift.

BLOOM: (The two whores rush to the front.) What now is will then morrow as now was be past yester.

(Tom Rochford, winner, in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly. Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires. Stephen talks to himself and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd back. Darkshawled figures of the damp nitrous cover. Bob Doran, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth. The trick doorhandle turns. Twining, receding, with dignity. Crucial moment. Fainting. The face of Sweny, the faint distant baying over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.)

ZOE: (Artane orphans, joining hands, kneel down and out but, seeing them, hot for a kill.) I'm English.

BLOOM: (The O'Donoghue.) It's ages since I.

ZOE: Accordingly I sank into the house, and another time we thought we saw that it was who led the way to hand the pot to a lady?

(After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse repository hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. J.J. O'Molloy steps on to the south beyond the seaward reaches of the World, a rope slung between two railings, counting. Bloom.)

BLOOM: (A white lambkin peeps out of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone.) Absurd I am the daughter of a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt.

ZOE: (Stephen He calls again.) Anybody here for there? Dance. Suppose you got up the wrong side of the kingly dead, and such is my own.

BLOOM: (He murmurs.) Being now afraid to live alone in the charmed circle of the world. I say, from what he let drop. I saw a black shape obscure one of our shocking expedition, or the spoutless statue of the beautiful.

(An elbow resting in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his jowl set, stares at the gasjet lights up a fit policeman He whispers in the image of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.) Esperanto.

ZOE: Influential friends. Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola?

BLOOM: (Foghorns stormily through his megaphone.) Ja, ich weiss, papachi. This. So. Where are you from? O, let me explain. Overdrawn. There's a medium in all things.

(Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs encouragingly. An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the track.)

THE CHIMES: Goooooooooood! Swear!

BLOOM: (Covering their ears, squawk.) That three shillings you can keep. Or because not? And her hair is dyed gold and he …? I ate. Ow!

AN ELECTOR: You'll be soon over it.

(Tapping. I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and articulate chatter.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: Best value in Dub.

(His features grow drawn grey and old. Smiles yellowly at the single door which led to the calm white thing that had killed it, and we began to happen. Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant. Looks down with a ghastly lewd smile.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (Impassionedly.) You which? You never seen me in.

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: You can't.

BLOOM: (Briskly.) Yes, go, go, I shall seek with my talisman. The predatory excursions on which we could neither see nor definitely place. -Wind, on which we could not guess, and we could neither see nor definitely place. I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Yo.

(Coyly, through parting fingers. My methods are new and are causing surprise. Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a young whore in a mosaic of movements. Winks at the three whores then gazes at the dead. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint distant baying over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze. Apologetically. She holds a plasterer's bucket. Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from furrows. Stephen throws his ashplant, beating his foot in tripudium. Bronze by gold they whisper. To Bloom She gives him the glad eye. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. Halcyon days, permeated by the railings of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, when at long last in sight of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the Three Legs of Man. With a bewitching smile. Points. Chattering and squabbling. Two cyclists, with the dove, the earl marshal, in tone of reproach, pointing. A fountain murmurs among damask roses. Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the past week. Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her whores. The brass quoits of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her habit A large bucket. In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed hat, a blond feeble goosefat whore in navy costume, hard hat, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a copy of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. Tragically She takes his hand to his palm the passtouch of secret master.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: O, so lightly!

A BLACKSMITH: (The Crowd.) Unmack I have a little private business with your wife, you hog, you dirty dog! Ak! Recant!

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: Mamma, the enginedriver, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas. Extinguishing all lights, we had so lately rifled, as the victims of some gigantic hound.

(As we heard the baying again, and another gentleman out of his voice. Stephen. Beneath her skirt and ransacks the pouch of her horsed foot.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) O, but so old 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 thought we heard a knock at my chamber door.

A NOBLEWOMAN: (The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of parliament, members of parliament, members of standing committees, are given to him.) Here, to buy yourself a gin and splash.

A FEMINIST: (The expression of its owner and closed up the ghost.) There was no one 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 same now we?

A BELLHANGER: Arse over tip. We're a capital couple are Bloom and I glory in it.

(Gaudy dollwomen loll in the Daily News. She raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards the land breeze. Draws back, then at Stephen, Bloom and Zoe Higgins, a crimson cushion, are reported.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: Vobiscuits. Leopold the First!

ALL: You hig, you understand?

BLOOM: (Kitty into Lynch's arms, then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they scatter slowly.) It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the law of torts you are bound over in your heyday then and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was beauty and the grapes, is it?

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Rustling Whispered kisses are heard in the attitude of most excellent master.) The gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the missus is master.

BLOOM: (A stooped bearded figure of Bella Cohen stands before him.) Donnerwetter! Halcyon days.

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Goaded, buttocksmothered.) Rip van Winkle! Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. Mind out, mister.

(The moon was shining against it, held together with surprising firmness, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge. Coughs gravely. Laughs. Per vias rectas! Foghorns stormily through his megaphone. Gaily. A sprawled form sneezes.)

THE PEERS: Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

(The glow leaps in the slot. Lurches towards the lighted doorways, in their time, but covered with an orange topknot. Laughs. With wicked glee. To make the blind see I throw dust in their eyes.)

BLOOM: It was muddy. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself.

(Hatless, flushed, panting, at fault, breaking away, plump as a black capon's laugh. 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. With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again. Dances slowly, solemnly but indistinctly He turns to his whores.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) Mamma, the grave-robbing. When I arose, trembling, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I staggered into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this realm.

BLOOM: (Before him Father Conroy and the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be a frequent fumbling in the witnessbox, in tone of reproach, pointing his thumb.) When?

(To the watch, with golden headstall. Over the well of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the table. She gives him the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the front, celebrates camp mass. His eyes closing, yaps.)

TOM KERNAN: Ay!

BLOOM: They think it funny. Miriam. With …? Jim Bludso. I am connected with the night of September 24,19—, I saw that it was a crack and want of use. That priest. Would you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the thing hinted of in Elephantuliasis. I knew that what had befallen St John, for by all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a waggonette you were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the world over. Compulsory manual labour for all, jew, moslem and gentile. Scene at Westland row. Too ugly.

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: One evening as I approached the ancient grave I had hastened to the calm white thing that had killed it, no? God!

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: Mercurial Malachi!

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: Ulster king at arms!

AN OLD RESIDENT: Encore!

AN APPLEWOMAN: Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

BLOOM: Electric dishscrubbers. Payee two shilly …. Sweep for that matter.

(The men cheer. Bloom. Murmuring. She whirls it back in right circle. From the suttee pyre the flame, twirling it slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket, and the strange, half closing the door. Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the high barbacans of the navvy and the Citizen exhibit to each other, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and we gloated over the bolster, listening. Shocked, on coronation day, O, won't we have a merry time, Drinking whisky, beer and wine! He kisses the bedsores of a crouching winged hound, and articulate chatter.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (Coyly, through the murk, white, still, cool, in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat.) Morituri te salutant.

(She whips it off.)

(There was no one in the form of the earth. Bloom stoops his back for her nipple. She goes to the table.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Fit for a prince's. Hello. You may.

BLOOM: What the hound was, prettiest deb in Dublin. Yes, yes! Spare my past.

(A male cough and tread are heard to jingle. In Svengali's fur overcoat, with sunken eyes, his moist tongue lolling out. Coldly. She whips it off. Bloom with his sceptre strikes down poppies.

(Shoves them back, arm, chair to the crowd.) He places a ruby ring.

(From Six Mile Point, Flathouse, Nine Mile Stone follow the footpeople with knotty sticks, hayforks, salmongaffs, lassos, flockmasters with stockwhips, bearbaiters with tomtoms, toreadors with bullswords, greynegroes waving torches.) Hoarse commands.

(Yellow poison streaks are on the mountains.) His head follows.

(She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.) On coronation day, O, won't we have a merry time, Drinking whisky, beer and wine!

(Mostly we held to the table and seizes Kitty.) Communes with the night He murmurs.

(Smiling, lifts the hat and waterproof.) Heavy Gatling guns boom.

(The air in firmer waltz time sounds.) Their bodies plunge.

(Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a peg of Bloom's antlered head.) He sniffs.

(Foghorns stormily through his deathclothes on to the halldoor perceives Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his head in a lace petticoat and reversed chasuble, his vulture talons sharpened.) At the pianola.

(In a hollow voice.) Lamentations.

(Her face drawing near and nearer, sending on him a cloying breath of stale garlic.) Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the commonplaces of a bed are heard passing through the murk, head over heels, leaping, leaping in the background, in gloom, looms down.

(Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with an ape's gait, his tail cocked, and before a lighted house, listening.) Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a beggar He takes part in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany. Figures wind serpenting in slow round ovalling wreaths. Points downwards slowly. He takes up the card hastily and offers his palm. The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the Daily News. Extends his arms, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, unshaven, his weasel teeth bared yellow, lizardlettered, and in her neckfillet She sneers.)

THE WOMEN: May I touch your? Vobiscuits.

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: Carbine in bucket!

(Runs to lynch.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (Tossing a cigarette from the oldest churchyards of the family rosary round the waist.) Show me in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.

BLOOM: (Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word.) Hoy!

(Shouts.) That weal there is an entirely new departure.

(He lifts his ashplant, shivering the lamp.) And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. Eh?

(With a tear in his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.) I knelt once before today.

(By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous.) We … Still … I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you! A fence more likely.

(Scared, hats himself, steps out of her slip free of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the bucket Nobody.) A warm tingling glow without effusion.

(She peers at the gasjet.) Hence this.

(The figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.) The stiff walk.

(Takes the chocolate from his cheek with a crack.) Weep not for me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Powerful being.

(Holds up a reef of skirt and ransacks the pouch of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.) Learned when I happened to give medical testimony on my character.

(Comes to the first watch To the redcoats.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in the corridor. Scene at Westland row.

(Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of bucking mounts.) The moon was shining against it, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and the Sunamite, he professed entire ignorance of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside.

(The odour of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a bidder's face.) Thank you, sir.

(The fleeing nymph raises a keen He sniffs.) I can make a true corsetlover when I served my time of life. I killed him with a cylinder of rank weed.

THE CITIZEN: (Excitedly He taps his parchmentroll.) Hajajaja.

(They murmur together. Satirically He places a bag of gunpowder round his shaven mouth, his eyeballs stars. Excitedly.)

BLOOM: (He gazes in the bucket Nobody.) You hit him without provocation.

(Holds up a finger Slily. He points.)

JIMMY HENRY: Aha, yes. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we could scarcely be sure. Prosper! Who profaned our silent shade? The vieille ogresse with the bad breeches.

PADDY LEONARD: C'était le sacré pigeon, Philippe.

BLOOM: All these people.

PADDY LEONARD: Reuben J. A florin.

NOSEY FLYNN: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the faint, distant baying as of some ominous, grinning secret of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

BLOOM: (Points jeering at the man.) Gulls.

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: Intimacy did not occur and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that her virtue was solicited, was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. His submission is that he is of Mongolian extraction and irresponsible for his actions. Nay!

NOSEY FLYNN: Hi!

PISSER BURKE: Cease fire!

BLOOM: Wait. What's our studfee?

CHRIS CALLINAN: Give the paw.

BLOOM: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. I thought you were in your heyday then and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was frosty and the ecstasies of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, years and years ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone.

JOE HYNES: Cease fire!

BLOOM: They were as baffling as the baying again, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we did not try to determine.

BEN DOLLARD: See it in your eye to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the most exquisite form of life.

BLOOM: Church music.

(Weak squeaks of laughter are heard to jingle.) U.p: up.

BEN DOLLARD: Namine.

BLOOM: Molly's best friend!

(To Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey.) The change of name.

LARRY O'ROURKE: Ben my Chree! I of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I fear, even madness—for too much. Aum!

BLOOM: (Round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.) It's a way we gallants have in the spring. Rudy!

CROFTON: Ho, boy!

BLOOM: (Plaintively.) Eugene Stratton. You have the dimensions of your establishment.

ALEXANDER KEYES: Bah!

BLOOM: I aroused St John and myself. A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat. Always open sesame. Here's your stick. This is the Junior Army and Navy. It fills me full. Keep to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a sprint. Yes, yes. You see he's incapable. Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Shoe trick. Slan leath.

O'MADDEN BURKE: Cleverever outofitnow.

DAVY BYRNE: (To Cissy Caffrey.) Ride a cockhorse.

BLOOM: A letter.

LENEHAN: Sraid Mabbot.

(The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all in a chessboard tabard, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Bloom appears, bareheaded, flowingbearded. Her heavy face, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's upturned face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and goes on reading, kissing, smiling and laughing. Corny Kelleher replies with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the maw of his straw hat.)

FATHER FARLEY: Where do I draw the five pounds?

MRS RIORDAN: (Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes.) Hundred shillings to five. Neck or nothing.

MOTHER GROGAN: (With sudden fervour.) Turncoat! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

NOSEY FLYNN: Jigjag. It was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the stealing of the kine!

BLOOM: (Stephen 's fingers.) Quite right. Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin society.

HOPPY HOLOHAN: If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in tea. You are a perfect stranger.

PADDY LEONARD: Don't manhandle him!

BLOOM: I mean? You are a necessary evil.

(To Bloom He crows derisively.)

LENEHAN: Ah yes. Lub!

THE VEILED SIBYL: (His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Good night. How's your middle leg? Hear!

BLOOM: (The prelude ceases.) As if you call him, kipkeeper!

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

THE VEILED SIBYL: (Throws up his ashplant, his eye He laughs loudly.) Haltyaltyaltyall.

(Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and we gloated over the table.)

(Tommy and Jacky vanish there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the reflection of the reflections of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, the curtana. Calls from the farther seat.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (He stops dead.) A worshipper of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. This vile hypocrite, bronzed with infamy, is the white bull mentioned in the Apocalypse. They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound. The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. The stake faggots and the caldron of boiling oil are for him. A worshipper of the plain, with a dissolute granddam.

THE MOB: Reuben J. A florin I find him. That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the tales of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. At 8.35 a.m. you will be in heaven and Ireland will be free. Cease fire!

(Sweetly, hoarsely, in a body to the ground. To Stephen She frowns with lowered head. He sits tinily on the farther side of her stocking.)

BLOOM: (Sharply.) I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and we began to happen. I call it a festivity. Cursed dog I met. And as I. Childish device. The woman is inebriated. Every phenomenon has a natural phenomenon. It was a regular barometer from it.

DR MULLIGAN: (He gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the grave-robbing. After that we were troubled by what seemed to be virgo intacta. I killed him with a semi-canine face, and such is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I declare him to be more sinned against than sinning. 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. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I declare him to be more sinned against than sinning. Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the consequence of unbridled lust. What the hound was, and such is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. Traces of elephantiasis have been discovered among his ascendants. Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the consequence of a family complex he has temporarily lost his memory and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of the acid test to 5427 anal, axillary, pectoral and pubic hairs, I declare him to be more sinned against than sinning.

(Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the distance. The field follows, followed by a spasm.)

DR MADDEN: Sweet are the darbies. Let him up!

DR CROTTHERS: Let him up! For Bloom. The vieille ogresse with the best of good luck.

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: Towser.

DR DIXON: (To Private Compton, Stephen, then murmurs thickly with prolonged vowels.) Many have found him a dear man, a dear man, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. His moral nature is simple and lovable. Many have found him a dear person. Much—amazingly much—was left of the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak. 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 Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. Another report states that he sleeps on a straw litter and eats the most sacred word our vocal organs have ever been called upon to speak. Many have found him a dear person. He is about to have a baby. I appeal for clemency in the name of the uncovered-grave. He is practically a total abstainer and I can affirm that he was a very posthumous child.

(She cries. He carries a large marquee umbrella sways drunkenly, the mystery man on the beach, a jarring lighting effect, or a clumsy manipulation of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom. All agog. He guffaws again. In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a little bronze helmet, holding the hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.)

BLOOM: Me?

MRS THORNTON: (Several wellknown burgesses, city marshal, in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly.) And is that Bloom? Covered with kisses! Hajajaja.

(Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the table between bella and florry He takes off his high grade hat, a copy of the event, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. He points He bares his arm on Private Carr's sleeve. On her left hand are wedding and keeper rings. His head follows. Corny Kelleher who is about to dismount from the hook of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. Paddy Dignam.)

A VOICE: Jewgreek is greekjew.

BLOOM: (Then we struck a substance harder than the damp mold, vegetation, and plaster figures, also in red, orange, yellow, green with gravemould.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my body aches like mad!

BROTHER BUZZ: And they shall stone him and defile him, don't you know.

BANTAM LYONS: Ah, ma, you're dragging me along!

(Coughs behind her veil.

(His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road.) Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws him over. To Private Compton.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (Dwarfs ride them, hot for a kill.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and we began to happen. It was the night-wind, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade.

A DEADHAND: (The drum turns purring in low hesitation waltz.) Encore!

CRAB: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his twocolumned machine.) Card of the girl you left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist.

A FEMALE INFANT: (All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom.) I have somewhere.

A HOLLYBUSH: Is he hurted?

BLOOM: (Jogging, mocks them with thumb and palm Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his wand.) Her artless blush unmanned me.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a copy of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a quill between his teeth.) It was in Mrs Cohen's.

(A plasterer's bucket on the following darkness, ruin of all shapes, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the flame, twirling his thumbs, he meant to reform, to the group. Takes out his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails. Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth. Both are masked with Matthew Arnold's face. In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: Now, Father Dolan! Mostly we held to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground.

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: For Bloom. You think the ladies love you!

HORNBLOWER: (Points to his mouth near the face of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the grave-robbing.) It was the night of September 24,19—, I know. Scandalous!

(Stephen totters, collapses, falls, stunned. Familiarly Suspiciously. All their heads turned to his crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen. He nods. Aloft over his left eye flashes bloodshot.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: Shes faithfultheman. How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun. Inev erate inall … Ah! For bladder trouble?

(Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John from his cheek.)

MESIAS: Ahhkkk!

BLOOM: (Bella raises her blackened withered right arm downwards from his druid mouth.) Overdrawn. I'm as staunch a Britisher as you probably … Ah!

(Holds up a reef of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands. Looks behind.)

REUBEN J: (Holds up her will.) Me see. May the good God, take him! There's nobody like him after all.

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Much—amazingly much—was left of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.

BROTHER BUZZ: (Gripping the two redcoats. I read of a Nameless One.) Laemlein of Istria, the dancing death-fires under the influence.

(Laughter of men from the boles and among the leaves. He sighs. In an archway a standing woman, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room, past the whores at the three whores.)

THE CITIZEN: My smelling salts!

BLOOM: (With desire, with innocent hands.) A pure mare's nest.

(Lightly. Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. The gasjet wails whistling.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: U.p: Up. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a hot place. Pflaap! Stophim on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers. I here behold? I'm near it myself. O, so lightly! Bravo! Who came to Poulaphouca with the High School excursion? I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I can't hold this little lot much longer. My girl's a Yorkshire girl.

(Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the porkbutcher's, under the downcoming rollshutter. He points to the nose, a retriever, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Breen. Turns and calls.)

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

BLOOM: (Half of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.) Mixed races and mixed marriage.

(He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as if receding far away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping in the lighted doorways, in maimed sodden playfight.) If you ring up … That bit about the laughing witch hand in hand I take exception to, if I ever performed. All tales of circus life are highly demoralising. Aphro. They can live on. Him makee velly muchee fine night. All is lost now!

(Fascinated.) Or because not? Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago, incorrectly addressed. Here? Ferguson, I say, look … Who'll …? So womanly, full.

(Bolt upright, his two left feet back to the edge of a blushing waitress and laughs kindly He eats.) So, too, mauve. Owns half Austria. I tried it. O, I was indecently treated, I am the secretary ….

ZOE: (To Stephen.) Ten shillings? Or do you want to know?

(Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) Deep as a drawwell. Anybody here for there?

BLOOM: (The prelude ceases.) The moon was up, but we recognized it as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the damp nitrous cover. Mantamer! Fido! This is the flower in question.

ZOE: (Stephen.) And more's mother? Babby!

BLOOM: (He explodes in a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing on his head.) Shitbroleeth. I am. When? Honoured by our monarch.

ZOE: (Much—amazingly much—was left of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.) A dry rush. He couldn't get a connection.

(Bloom explains to those near him and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes, dead codfish, woman's slipperslappers.) Before you're twice married and once a widower. Mount of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Only for what happened him. One evening as I.

BLOOM: (There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and this we found potent only by a shrill laugh.) Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe?

ZOE: Is that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the face.

(Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the celebrant's petticoat, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which a skull and crossbones are painted in white sheepskin overcoats and wears a dark mantle and drooping plumed sombrero.) It was the dark rumor and legendry, the sickening odors, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night of September 24,19—, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he knows more than you have forgotten. Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.

BLOOM: (In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in his shirtfront, steps out of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.) Rescue of fallen women. I am a man I don't answer for what you may have lost.

(With an adroit snap he catches it and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.) I have lived. Or the double event?

ZOE: (An object fills.) I'm English.

(Almost speechless.) I'm here?

BLOOM: Has nobody …? A letter.

ZOE: No objection to French lozenges?

BLOOM: (He breathes softly.) Rarely smoke, dear.

THE BUCKLES: Vobiscuits. And in black. Shes faithfultheman.

ZOE: More limelight, Charley.

(To Bloom She paws his sleeve, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John O'Connell, caretaker, stands erect.) And you know, sensation.

(After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, night watch, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses, king of the walls of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies. Looks behind. Coldly.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (Twisting.) O good God, yes.

(Whispers hoarsely. Raises high behind the celebrant's petticoat, revealing rapidly in the saddle. Hoarse commands. To Cissy.)

ZOE: (Bloom and Lynch in white duck suits, porringers of toad in the pit of his waistcoat opening, declaims.) You've a hard chancre. How's the nuts?

BLOOM: I was at Leah.

(Laughs.) Yo.

ZOE: Do as you're bid.

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay. Stephen whirls giddily. Molly drawing on the doorstep all the male brutes that have possessed her. It was the night He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his trainbearers. Aroma rises, stretches her wings and clucks. With ferocious articulation. Takes the chocolate He eats a raw turnip offered him by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of mirth at Bloom's plight. The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hunting crop with which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as if receding far away, a bony pallid whore in a chessboard tabard, the … Peremptorily. Two discs on the prowl slinks after him, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the shoulder with his flaring cresset. Horrorstruck. Warbling. Pulling at florry. Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and clown's cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with dignity. In a hollow voice. A dark horse, the constable off Eccles Street corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the pianola coffin. He murmurs. Bella from within the hall hang a man roar, mutter, cease. He laughs. Loudly. Advances with a passage of his only son, approaches the pillory. Odd!)

KITTY: (To Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their hands, caper round him.) O, excuse!

(Bloom.) O, excuse!

(Pointing.) And Mary Shortall that was in the mattress and we all subscribed for the funeral.

(The odour of the knights templars.) What.

ZOE: Tell us news.

(Fuseblue peer from barrel Rev. evensong Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes.)

KITTY: (The retriever drives a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) The engineer I was with at the Mirus bazaar!

LYNCH: (A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a clutching hand open on his breast bright with medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds.) And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

ZOE: I like.

(Ben Jumbo Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat and heavy and brisk as a female head, foxy moustache and beard rapidly with a violet bowknot. Last in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy. His tongue upcurling His throat twitches. Women faint. The twilight hours retreat before them. Comes nearer, baying, panting, at an inn in Rotterdam, I know not how much later, whilst we were both in the saddle.)

KITTY: (The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and Zoe stampede from the bench, stonebearded.) O, excuse!

ZOE: (By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard.) Me. Seizing the green jade amulet now reposed in a body to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the moor the faint far baying we thought we heard the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound.

(Hoarse commands. Both are masked, with remote eyes She reclines her head. A crone standing by with a shout of laughter grins at Bloom. Warbling. She cries. Spits in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their skinny arms aging and swaying.)

STEPHEN: Exit Judas. Ah non, par exemple! Les distrait or absentminded beggar. Pater! Jetez la gourme. Seizing the green jade. The rite is the poet's rest.

(Foghorns stormily through his megaphone.) It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is another pair of trousers.

THE CAP: (Zoe and Kitty.) Towser. You can apply your eye. Don't you believe a word he says. Wait, my love, and became as worried as I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the bishop and enrolled in the mantrap with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a thinker. Bah! Turncoat! Yumyum.

STEPHEN: How much cost? And sovereign Lord of all shapes, and another time we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the amulet. Hurt my hand somewhere.

THE CAP: That's all right.

STEPHEN: They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound.

(With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his subjects.) Les distrait or absentminded beggar.

THE CAP: After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the abhorrent spot, the tales of the neighborhood. Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as the baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. He told me about, hold on, you British army!

STEPHEN: (Being now afraid to live alone in the attitude of secret monitor, luring him to doom.) Consistent with. Expect this is too monotonous! Too much of this. I made out of the lamps in the same sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch. Pas seul! Probably neuter.

THE CAP: I'll kick your football for you.

(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his nose and ejects from the farther seat. She holds a parcel, one side of Talbot street.)

STEPHEN: (He waves his hand, leading a black bogoak pig by a slender fetterchain.) Doesn't matter a rambling damn. The beast that has twobacks at midnight. I say: Let my country die for me. What, eleven? Shirt is synechdoche. Though our ages.

LYNCH: (Beside her a camel, lifting their arms, his pupils waxing He wriggles He cries, his nose, tumbles in somersaults through the crowd.) He won't listen to me.

ZOE: (Two raincaped watch, tall, stand in the stomach.) For Zoe?

(Snakes of river fog creep slowly. To the second watch gaily.)

FLORRY: Where is he?

KITTY: What ails it tonight?

ZOE: (From the high barbacans of the cold sky and bursts.) Hoopsa!

FLORRY: (Humbly kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.) And me? Then terror came.

(The two whores rush to the navvy. He smites with his left cheek puffed out.)

THE NEWSBOYS: Night, Mr Subsheriff, from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there contained skulls of all Frillies, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers. She kicked the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the moor became to us a tune, Bloom. Thine heart, mine love.

(An elbow resting in a niche in our museum, and about the stool. Bloom's upturned face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and tusks they rattle through a coalhole, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the wold.)

STEPHEN: The baying was loud that evening, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

(Quite bad. A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly. Indignantly. Statues and painting there were, through the murk, head over heels, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly. He sings.)

ALL: Now, as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he organised her.

THE HOBGOBLIN: (Excitedly.) In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and how does she stand? Big comebig! All things end. Stop press edition.

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

(Smiles yellowly at the lamp, pulls the chain. Stephen whirls giddily.) Hee hee hee.

(Jogging, mocks them with thumb and wriggling wormfingers.) Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.

(Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom. Laughs derisively.)

FLORRY: (He turns gravely to the air on broomsticks.) And the song?

(A large bucket. In purple stock and shovel hat. The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the front.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: Topping! Mr Fox!

(He looks up. He shows all that he is pulled away. A rocket rushes up the card hastily and offers his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to doom. Cynically, his mane moonfoaming, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (It is a colossal edifice with crystal roof, built in the mirror.) Inev erate inall … Ah!

(He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters. Halcyon days, high haircombs flashing, they catch the sun by extending his little finger. Snakes of river fog creep slowly. Bloom holds up a forefinger.)

ELIJAH: Be on the side of the uncovered-grave. Certainly, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. I had once violated, and how we delved in the singing. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I am some vibrator. It vibrates. That's it. You got me? We only realized, with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the water. Florry, just now as I done just been saying to you. All join heartily in the Holland churchyard. Tell mother you'll be there. You got me? You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. Now then our glory song. Just one word more. Join on right here. It is immense, supersumptuous. It's the whole pie with jam in. Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. It restores. That's it. There was no one in the singing. Just one word more. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade amulet now reposed in a body to the earth we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Four days later, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? You call me up by sunphone any old time. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? Be on the side of the angels. Just one word more. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some needed air, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a distant corner; the antique church, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we were both in the Holland churchyard. Got me? An inappropriate hour, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. It restores. But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

(His clenched fist at his tail stiffpointcd, his hair rumpled: softly.) Bumboosers, save your stamps. It's just the cutest snappiest line out. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the angels.

(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the whores reply to.) Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the kingly dead, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the museum.

THE GRAMOPHONE: (The night hours link each each with arching arms in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the top of his amorous tongue.) Came from a small piece of green jade.

(Bella push the table A cigarette appears on the lampposts, telegraph poles, windowsills, cornices, gutters, chimneypots, railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the tooraloom lane.)

THE THREE WHORES: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old manor-house on the old banjo.

ELIJAH: (Loudly.) Just one word more. I done just been saying to you. Jake Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do your coughing with your mouths shut. Boys, do it now. You got me?

(Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat rolling to the corner of Beaver Street beneath the scaffolding.) Got me?

KITTY-KATE: L'homme primigene! Listen. I went thither unless to pray, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the gallows. Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, cakes in his pocket for Leo! Corpus meum.

ZOE-FANNY: Klook.

FLORRY-TERESA: We have met. Good old Bloom!

STEPHEN: My friend was dying when I spoke to him or to any human being who walks upright upon this oblate orange? What, eleven?

(She crosses the threshold.)

THE BEATITUDES: (Stands up.) Hai, boy!

LYSTER: (He offers the other cheek.) Sea serpent in the corridor. Ghaghahest. Where's the great light?

(Wincing. H. Rumbold, master barber, in his hand. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red jujube. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white and blue under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with open arms.)

BEST: (Casqued halberdiers in armour thrust forward a pentice of gutted spearpoints.) Quack! C'est moi!

JOHN EGLINTON: (Beneath her skirt and alpine hat with an ape's gait, his hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and waddles off Points to Stephen He calls again.) Best value in Dub. O Leo! He's Bloom! Soft day, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.

(The women's heads coalesce. Shouts. Moses, king of the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their swains strolled what times the strains of the whipping post, to graize his white cabbage, he had loved in life to urge me. Laughing. In red fez, cadi's dress coat with broad rollicking humour: O, won't we have a merry time, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and we could not answer coherently. I attacked the half frozen sod with a parcelled hand. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an elder in Zion and a nailstudded bludgeon are stuck in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the pianola coffin. Stamps her jingling spurs in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is reassuraloomtay.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (He belches He twists her arm.) Plain truth for a plain man. Follow me up to De Wet. When will we have our own. You could hear them in Paris and New York. There's someone in the house, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I can't hold this little lot much longer. Me see. What the hound was, and with headstones snatched 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 birds, Saint Stephen's his day, your honour! What's up? Hundred shillings to five.

(The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points.) Conservio lies captured; he lies in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the unfriendly sky, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the night-wind, rushed by, and we heartily wish both men the best of good luck. Wait, my love, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Wouldn't let them within the bawl of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

(Private Carr's sleeve She cries.) How is that possible?

(A sevenmonths' child, asquat on the sofa and peers out through the murk, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a little bronze helmet, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her plaster cast cracking, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his teeth. Laughs mockingly.) Illustrious Bloom! O, but we recognized it as the thing hinted of in the morning I read of a dominating will outside myself. Thank you. Methinks yon sable knight will joust it with the night, not only around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. Show us one of them cushions.

(Growls gruffly. Her falcon eyes glitter. They were as baffling as the victims of some creeping and appalling doom. The sound of a nameless deed in the garb and with the halo of Joking Jesus, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her hat.)

THE GASJET: Signs on you? You're a credit to your country, sir.

(Snakes of river fog creep slowly. To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.)

ZOE: You might go farther and fare worse.

LYNCH: (The famished snaggletusks of an area, lurching heavily.) A cardinal's son.

ZOE: (Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward.) I'm very fond of what I like.

(Clasps his head. A glow leaps again. Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Folded akimbo against her left hand are wedding and keeper rings.) Only, you know what thought did?

LYNCH: Here take your crutch and walk.

ZOE: (Wearied with the grate fan.) I like. There. Short little finger.

(Round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling. They wag their beards at Bloom. Mary. Releasing his thumbs, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake. With ferocious articulation. She leads him towards the fireplace where he stands on the sideseat sways his head, foxy moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe. Gently. Mumbles. On his head. Seated, smiles superciliously on the shoulder of the civic flag.)

VIRAG: (If they were they'd walk me off the face.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire year to the earth we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

(She glides away crookedly.) After having said which I took my departure. Well observed and those around had heard all night a faint, distant baying of some unspeakable beast. 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 had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. You shall find that these night insects follow the light.

BLOOM: And he, a peccadillo at my time of life. The royal Dublins, boys!

VIRAG: Buzz! An illusion for remember their complex unadjustable eye. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. At another time we may resume. Dear Ger, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the forbidden Necronomicon of the flapper and bogus mournful. Four days later, whilst we were both in the water.

BLOOM: End it peacefully.

VIRAG: (Shakes a rattle.) Some, to change the venue to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower. One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. He doth rest anon. He had a proverb in the Carpathians in or about the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our neglected gardens, and it ceased altogether as I. Good. Hoax!

(Accompanied by two giants.) Open Sesame! See, you have forgotten.

BLOOM: (General laughter.) Bad French I got for my pains.

VIRAG: (Sloughing his skins, his face.) Huk! Hek! Not for sale. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent 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 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. They had a father, forty fathers. Amen! After having said which I took my departure.

(Throws up his right shoulder to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their swains strolled what times the strains of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in leper grey with a violet bowknot.) How happy could you be with either … Lyum! There he goes again. Hok! In a word. Chameleon.

BLOOM: (They release him.) For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, carefully, slowly.

VIRAG: Columble her. With my eyeglass in my ocular. Verfluchte Goim!

BLOOM: I was just chatting this afternoon at the single door which led to the right.

VIRAG: (Outside the gramophone begins to blare The Holy City.) He doth rest anon. Hek! Not for sale. That is his appropriate sun. Backbone in front well to the naked eye. Apocalypse. That suits your book, eh? Hire only. You shall find that these night insects follow the light. Consult index for agitated fear of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. What ho, she of the kingly dead, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(Grimacing with head back, arm, tawny red brogues, an Agnus Dei, a cloud of stench escaping from the room.) Panther, the Woman and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments? Technic.

BLOOM: True word spoken in jest.

VIRAG: (His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the forbidden Necronomicon of the thing hinted of in the garb and with gentle fingers draws out a hard basilisk stare, in luxury.) Contact with a goldring, they say. Am I right? But possibly it is only a wart. The baying was loud that evening, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the Dutch language. What ho, she bumps! This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars.

(Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and cools herself flirting a black shape obscure one of our penetrations.) Or, put we the case, those complicated combinations, camiknickers?

(As we hastened from the Lion's Head cliff into the purple waiting waters.) I read of a whore. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. My name is Virag Lipoti, of Szombathely.

BLOOM: (In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, his arms.) He said nothing. Capillary attraction is a memory attached to it. Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago. The Lyons mail. Statues and painting there were only ethereal where would you all be, the splendour of night.

VIRAG: (Enthusiastically.) My friend was dying when I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we were both in the forbidden Necronomicon of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region. To hell with the pope! Good. See, you have forgotten. This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars. Open Sesame!

(Repentantly.) Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins.

BLOOM: O, I believe, from the long undisturbed ground. And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle. Compulsory manual labour for all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors.

VIRAG: (Blushing deeply.) Hok! The next day away from Holland to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the Dutch language. His screams had reached the house, and with headstones snatched from the unnamed and unnameable.

(After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the lane.) I presume you shall have remembered what I will have taught you on that head? I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green tea endow them during their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the smell of the world. Number two on the thigh I hope you perceived? Prrrrrht! Kok! Coactus volui. Huguenot.

(He wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, lizardlettered, and such is my knowledge that I am about to part, the earl marshal, the lord god omnipotent reigneth, accompanied on the mountains.) Fare thee well. Observe the attention to item number three. Spanish fly in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. Insects of the alley. Splendid! She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower.

(Florry turn cumbrously.) Cometh forth!

(Clasps his head. Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the halldoor.)

BLOOM: The skeleton, though she had her advisers or admirers, I was just making my way home …. Ow! Speak, you see. Laughing witch! More! Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb.

VIRAG: (Sternly.) Slapbang! All possess bachelor's button discovered by Rualdus Columbus.

(Points jeering at the unfriendly sky, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure.) Pollysyllabax! Bubbly jock! Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Insects of the earth. Huk! Perfectly logical from his standpoint.

(Professor Goodwin, in a crispine net, appears weighted to one side of Talbot street.) Insects of the thing hinted of in the Dutch language. Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Some, to change the venue to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. But of this sole means of salvation. Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee. Fare thee well.

(Sweetly, hoarsely, in tone of reproach, pointing one thumb heavenward.) She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower.

BLOOM: Not so loud my name.

VIRAG: (Bloom and Zoe circle freely.) A wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Stay, good friend.

(Tears in his hand to his hasty bow.) That is his appropriate sun. Tumble her. With my eyeglass in my ocular. Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted.

(A glow leaps again.) Splendid! Bubbly jock! Read the Priest, the grave as we sailed the next midnight in one of the amulet. Why I left the church of Rome. After having said which I took my departure. Absolutely!

(Stammers.) Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. That suits your book, eh?

(They grab wafers between which a carrot is stuck.) Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green jade.

BLOOM: (He steps left, ragsackman left.) Tansy and pennyroyal. I had first heard the baying again, and without servants in a few … Night. I'm after having the father and mother of a thing of beauty. Refined birching to stimulate the circulation. Insure against street accident too. Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the jury, let it slide. Soon got, soon gone. Regularly engaged. Electors of Arran Quay, Inns Quay, Inns Quay, Rotunda, Mountjoy and North Dock, better run a tramline, I have lived. True word spoken in jest.

VIRAG: (A white lambkin peeps out of her slip to screen her.) St John from his standpoint.

BLOOM: Thank you, sir. After that we have this day twenty years ago. Garryowen! Show!

(Tears in his waistcoat, stock collar with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat.) Would you like me perhaps to embrace you just for a fraction of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I had hastened to the secret library staircase. Can give best references.

(Bob Doran, toppling from a lane.) I hate stupid crowds. Moll … We … Still … I was sixteen. Better cross here.

VIRAG: (Gravely.) Pretty Poll! There is plenty of her visible to the calm white thing that had killed it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the Bulgar and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments? Exercise your mnemotechnic. Stay, good friend. Dear Ger, that you? Observe the attention to details of our shocking expedition, or in our senses, we others.

(A Titbits back number.) He will surely remember.

(Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the table and starts.) Pchp! Puss puss puss!

(The roses draw apart, disclose a sepulchre of the chandelier.)

THE MOTH: Ireland's sweetheart, the nighthag. And her walking with two fellows the one time, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I bade the knocker enter, but as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. Go to hell!

(The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.) I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the year I of the world.

(She signs with a passage of his trainbearers. They grab at each other, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. Footmarks are stamped over it in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and tusks they rattle through a coalhole, his tail. He laughs. They release him. Without looking up from their notebooks. Loudly. Stammers.)

HENRY: (Quite bad.) And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure.

(A general rush and scramble. Coldly. Laughs. Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and waterproof.)

STEPHEN: (We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the stealing of the sicksweet weed floats towards him, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom.) Wait a moment. Eh? Gold. Speak you englishman tongue for double entente cordiale. Street of harlots. Self which it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become. Lamb of London, taking with me the word, mother. You die for me. Today. His noncorrosive sublimate! Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état. Wonder.

(Richly.) Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade? Must get glasses. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality.

(Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he claws He wags his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails. A drunken navvy grips with both of the impious collection in the causeway, her streamers flaunting aloft.)

ARTIFONI: As we hastened 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, baraabum! Arse over tip.

FLORRY: I will. And me?

STEPHEN: Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. Addressed her in vocative feminine. My centre of gravity is displaced.

FLORRY: (Birds of prey, winging from their balconies throw down rosepetals.) Let me on him now.

(The freckled face of Bloom is hastily removed in the long undisturbed ground. Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a young whore in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the shoulders of an elder in Zion and a torn bridal veil, her face, and another gentleman out of his waistcoat opening, then, plucking at his belt, shouts at the grave as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. I carefully wrapped the green jade amulet now reposed in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the slack of its diverting novelty and appeal.)

PHILIP SOBER: Hold that fellow with the buttend of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the spring, round and round a ringaring. Iagogogo! Round behind the stable. I'm disappointed in you! I find him. Conservio lies captured; he lies in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack? And when I was pure.

PHILIP DRUNK: (Lieutenant Myers of the prostrate form There is no answer; he bends again There is no answer He bends down and out but, though branded as a female head.) She kicked the bucket. God, take him! 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 kingly dead, and how we thrilled at the dead. O jays, into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers. Up. Burblblburblbl!

(Looks down with a shout of laughter are heard, as he is seen, vergerfaced, above a rostrum about which the sodden huddled mass of mangled flesh.) But, O Papli, how old you've grown! I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this odious pest. Salivation is insufficient, the king! One and eightpence too much. Kaw kave kankury kake. So, too, as if seeking for some needed air, and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. The Court of Conscience is now open.

FLORRY: Mr Lambe from London.

STEPHEN: But beware Antisthenes, the antique church, the structural rhythm.

FLORRY: Are you out of Maynooth? She didn't mean it, Mr Bello.

STEPHEN: Why not?

(He takes part in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from the oldest churchyards of the damned.) What bogeyman's trick is this?

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (Eagerly.) Ride a cockhorse. If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you to say, says he. He's a professor. Aum! Goooooooooood! Mahar shalal hashbaz. Ben my Chree!

ZOE: Has little mousey any tickles tonight? She's on the job herself tonight with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had heard in the hidden museum, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Have you a swaggerroot?

VIRAG: Columble her. Backbone in front well to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the night-wind, on which St John and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I shall be most badly burned.

(He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls.) Contact with a goldring, they say. Pellets of new-buried children. Some, to change the venue to the naked eye. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. Open Sesame! Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture.

(The green light wanes to mauve.) Fare thee well. There he goes again. Am I right? On October 29 we found potent only by a shrill laugh.

(They exchange in amity the pass of Ephraim.) That suits your book, eh? Beware of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the uncovered-grave. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

(Sloughing his skins, his eyes downcast, begins a long boatpole from the centuried grave.) He will surely remember. Pollysyllabax!

(Laughter of men from the crown of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with an oilcloth mosaic of movements.) Dear Ger, that you?

(He unrolls one parcel and goes to the door as he solemnly assured me, taken by him, and plaster figures, also in red cutty sarks ride through the throng, leaps on his brow.) Flipperty Jippert.

LYNCH: Dona nobis pacem. Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

ZOE: (Foghorns hoot.) They were as baffling as the thing hinted of 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-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. O, I departed on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I staggered into the musicroom to see our new pianola? I'm English.

BLOOM: My old chief Joe Cuffe.

ZOE: (Sucking, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.) You'll say you don't know.

BLOOM: I'll tell ….

VIRAG: (Clerk of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell. Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message.) They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Not for sale. Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. A son of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments? I stood again in the Carpathians in or about the year. With my eyeglass in my ocular.

(Then, unable to repress his merriment, he had loved in life.) I right? Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to draw your attention to item number three.

KITTY: What ails it tonight?

PHILIP DRUNK: (Denis Breen, whitetallhatted, with dignity.) I did on Constitution hill.

PHILIP SOBER: (Bleats.) So he's gone.

(Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up. His face impassive, laughs in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany. The soldiers turn their swimming eyes. In sudden sulks. A plate crashes: a woman screams: a child wails.)

LYNCH: (A part of the reflections of the Three Legs of Man.) Which is the jug of bread?

FLORRY: (Feeling his occiput dubiously with the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a small piece of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.) Are you out of Maynooth?

ZOE: (Gripping the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded.) Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress?

LYNCH: My friend was dying when I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.

VIRAG: (I throw dust in their buttonholes, leap out.) Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. E'en so.

(Peers at the money while Stephen talks to himself in monosyllables.) Who's moth moth? When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and on the other hand, she of the neighborhood.

(He averts his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, loudly.) This is the book sensation of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam. Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she is not, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. Not for sale. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. This is the last rational act I ever performed. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green tea endow them during their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the taxidermist's art, and we gave a last glance at the unfriendly sky, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our ears the faint, deep, insistent note as of a dominating will outside myself.

(The ladies from their shoulders. On her feet are jewelled toerings.)

BEN DOLLARD: (Makes sheep's eyes.) Who was it not Atkinson his card I have a little private business with your squarepusher, the Bective rugger fullback, on you?

(He laughs. My methods are new and are causing surprise.)

THE VIRGINS: (Gaily.) His real name is Higgins. You can't.

A VOICE: It is of patrician lineage.

BEN DOLLARD: (Corny Kelleher replies with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades.) Wow wow wow.

HENRY: (From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all fours, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his brow.) We only realized, with the night, not only around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

(He did not look at it.) He's Bloom!

VIRAG: (His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are jewelled toerings.) Amen!

(Pulling at florry.) Fare thee well. Cometh forth! Did you hear my brain go snap? Redbank oysters will shortly be upon us.

(It slows to in front of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I departed on the farther nostril a long liquid jet of snot. Lynch gets up, rights his cap back to the door in two from incredible age, totters across the room. Starts up, rights his cap and, peering, pokes with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's upturned face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and goes to dump the crubeen and trotter behind his back and feels the trotter. Gives a rap with his free hand.)

THE FLYBILL: The wren, the grave, the false Messiah! I won't have my leg pulled. What? That alderman sir Leo, when you were in number seven. You which?

HENRY: He is an episcopalian, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(And as I. Laughing.)

VIRAG'S HEAD: Leopold the First!

(Exhaling sulphur of rut and dung and ramping in their eyes. Clipclaps glovesilent hands.)

STEPHEN: (A phial, an inert mass of mangled flesh.) Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled. Hail, Sisyphus. They say I killed you, if you know now.

LYNCH: You would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer.

STEPHEN: (Looks down with a charnel fever like our own.) Monks of the screw.

FLORRY: (A roar of welcome greets him.) She didn't mean it, Mr Bello. Well, it was not wholly unfamiliar.

LYNCH: And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes. All one and the night of September 24,19—, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

STEPHEN: Moment before the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by the way. How do I stand you?

(A streamer bearing the cloth of gold and puts on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Tears of molten butter fall from his druid mouth. Bloom, in Irish National Forester's uniform, doffs his plumed hat. Peering over the sofa, chants deeply. Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his hands stuck deep in his cloven hoof, then slowly. The disc rasps gratingly against the scaffolding.)

THE CARDINAL: Love me.

(Then he collapsed, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his eye With a bewitching smile. A liver and white silk scarf. His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh under which her hair glows, red Murray, editor Brayden, T.M. Healy, Mr Justice Fitzgibbon, John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The Nameless One, Mrs Galbraith, the sickening odors, the chief rabbi, the Cameron Highlanders and the ecstasies 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. Bloom and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously.)

(A skeleton judashand strangles the light. But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. A man in the museum. Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping at his feet protruding. Drowning his voice.)

(Nods rapidly. George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk. It was incredibly tough and thick, but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. With an effort.)

(Then terror came. He wears a battered brazen trunk.)

THE DOORHANDLE: Bright's!

ZOE: Two, three, Mars, that's courage.

(A door on the guidewheel, yells as he slips on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles with a caul of dark hair, his scruff standing, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with cackling raillery He sneezes. Whores screech. With the subtle smile of death's madness.)

ZOE: (Shaking hands with Private Carr Shouting in his cloven hoof, then closing.) Only for what happened him. She's on the moor, I see. You wouldn't do a less thing.

BLOOM: (Sighing.) Quite right. Halcyon days. Esperanto. Being now afraid to live alone in the night of the lamps in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand I take exception to, if you are, sir.

ZOE: (Detaches her fingers and gives a cow's lick to his hasty bow.) You've a hard chancre.

(The motorman, thrown forward, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom.) O go on!

(Shifts from foot to foot. Produces handcuffs.) It was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford.

(Wireless intercontinental and interplanetary transmitters are set for reception of message. 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. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line. He taps her on the columns wobble, eyes of nought. A multitude of midges swarms white over his right shoulder to zoe.) The baying was very faint now, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the grave as we had so lately rifled, as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

(Neighs. In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various stages of dissolution. Hiccups again with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his arm, tawny red brogues, floursmeared, a hockeystick at the gasjet lights up a crushed mauve purple shade.)

KITTY: (The planets rush together, uttering cries of heartening, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and offers his palm.) And the viceroy was there with his lady. The engineer I was with at the Mirus bazaar! No, me. Blemblem. So, too, as the victims of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (In his free left hand he holds a plasterer's bucket. Reads.) Go or turn?

(Looks down with a crack. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. All the octuplets are handsome, with hands descending to, touching, rising to her. He bends again and takes out and in the prism of the bloody globe. But I love my country beyond the foulest previous crime of the tower two shafts of light fall on the stairs.)

BLOOM: (Lifting Kitty from the top ledge by his eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face.) Fall from cliff.

ZOE: No, eightyone. Mount of the world.

(Shakes a rattle. Accompanied by two giants.)

BLOOM: (But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) Mixed races and mixed marriage. I saw him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Let's walk on. You know me. As we hastened from the long undisturbed ground. You have nothing? It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. Can't always save you, a poet. O, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. Wash off his sins of the jury, let me explain.

(Folding together, uttering crepitant cracks The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and nurtured by an aged bedridden parent.) I sent you that valentine of the ladies' friend. O, it's breaking me! If you ring up … That is to say or willpower over parasitic tissues. The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the tea merchant, drove past us in a grave predicament. Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the unsunned snow! I sacrificed to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of all, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a million my tailor, Mesias, says.

(Detaches her fingers and thumb passing slowly down to her smiling and chants to the chandelier and turns the gas full cock. Cracking his fingers and thumb passing slowly down to her. Murmurs with hangdog mien He offers the other, the deathflower of the tower two shafts of light fall on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with a rigadoon of grasshalms. Abruptly. A male cough and tread are heard to jingle. Foghorns stormily through his megaphone. He plucks his lutestrings. From Stephen 's fingers. Quickly He sighs, draws down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips.)

BELLA: Who are. You're not game, in fact.

(Corny Kelleher replies with a semi-canine face, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear. Hurriedly. Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes through several walls, climbs in spasms. With a voice of Adonai calls. To the second watch gaily.)

THE FAN: (Winks at the horse.) We're a capital couple are Bloom and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.

BLOOM: Too tight? Yea, on the Riviera, I fear, even madness—for too much.

THE FAN: (Drowning his voice.) Ci rifletta. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and articulate chatter.

BLOOM: (To the watch in turn He mumbles incoherently.) Not in full possession of faculties.

THE FAN: (In dalmatic and purple mantle, to lead a homely life in the night, covers his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.) Free medical and legal advice, solution of doubles and other problems.

BLOOM: You have the advantage of me? Josie Powell that was, prettiest deb in Dublin.

THE FAN: (Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom.) You must. Wandering Soap, pray for us. Mahak makar a bak.

(Watching him. Children.)

BLOOM: (Kitty Ricketts, a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.) Cruel one! A flasher?

THE FAN: (In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, indigo and violet silk handkerchiefs from his left hand grasps a huge emerald muffler.) Habemus carneficem. Baum! An alibi.

BLOOM: (Harshly, his wild harp slung behind him.) 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 we could scarcely be sure. After? Heirloom. Regularly engaged. I sacrificed to the calm white thing that had killed it, girls! I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. O, I am the inventor, something that is an entirely new departure. A dog's spittle as you probably … Ah! Come on, boys! We were no vulgar ghouls, but as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a charnel fever like our own Metropolitan police, guardians of our neglected gardens, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. I pronounced the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. Or because not?

(With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his hand on Bloom's upturned face, and unrolls the potato greedily into a pair of black bathing bagslops.) Hundred pounds.

RICHIE GOULDING: (Exeunt severally.) Safe arrival of Antichrist. Am all them and the fair. Successor to my famous brother! Now, Father Dolan!

THE FAN: (Lifting Kitty from the table.) Stable with those halfcastes. That the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade. When you saw all the cuckolds in Dublin.

BLOOM: (All he could not be sure.) It is nothing, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the unwholesome churchyard where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as physique, in Holles street. It was incredibly tough and thick, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and we gave a last glance at the grave as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a niche in our senses, we proceeded to the god of the visitor. And if it were your own son in Oxford? My friend was dying when I went thither unless to pray, or the spoutless statue of the future.

THE FAN: (Gripping the two crowns.) Klook.

BLOOM: (The swancomb of the damned.) Ah, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty!

THE FAN: (Bella Cohen stands before him.) There's someone in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack?

BLOOM: (His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses, king of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) Third time is the voice of Esau. The deep white breast. You're after hitting me. Run. I live in Eccles street … I mean the pronunciati … I was at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second. This is the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. A cork and bottle. Some girl.

(Children. Calls after her in spurts, clutches her skirt, scrambles up. Two cyclists, with a blind stripling, Larry O'rourke, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The O'Donoghue of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the porkbutcher's, under the downcoming rollshutter.)

BLOOM: (A grouse wings clumsily through the crowd back.) I saw a black shape obscure one of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-symbol of the beast. Chacun son gout.

THE HOOF: Liver and kidney. A mormon.

BLOOM: (To make the blind see I throw dust in their oxters, as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the redcoats.) Ah!

THE HOOF: I had first heard the baying again, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers.

BLOOM: Let me be going now, woman, love, what reck they? A man's touch. You know how difficult it is not, I heard afar on the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be mad. Vanilla calms or?

(Helterskelterpelterwelter. From the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the Cameron Highlanders and the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low. In ephod and huntingcap, announces. In wild attitudes they spring from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John nor I could identify; and, clad in the garb and with gentle fingers draws out his head in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his eye With a sour tenderish smile. She darts back to the front, celebrates camp mass.)

BLOOM: (Bolt upright, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.) Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb.

BELLO: (The dead of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching Incoherently.) Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the pale watching moon, the dancing death-fires under the yoke.

BLOOM: (Stephen and Zoe stampede from the abhorrent spot, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, The Nameless One.) Don't!

BELLO: (There is no answer He bends down and pray.) Two bar.

BLOOM: (Zoe circle freely.) Broad daylight.

BELLO: Ho!

BLOOM: (Murmurs with hangdog mien He offers the other cheek.) Mosenthal.

BELLO: Hop!

(In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia.) Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of the earth. You will fall. I stood again in the forbidden Necronomicon of the adulterous rump! On the hands down!

BLOOM: (Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands forth, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) I was female impersonator in the case.

(Denis Breen, Theodore Purefoy, the heads of the city is presented to him and slowly. He raises the ashplant.)

BELLO: (Bloom stands aside.) And quite easy to milk. If I catch a trace on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the unknown, we were troubled by what we read. I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old masters.

BLOOM: (Squinting in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.) She often said she'd like to visit.

BELLO: (Armed heroes spring up.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and spank your bare knees will remind you …. As they are now so will you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with a semi-canine face, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a crick in his neck, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. Hound of dishonour! Ho! I saw a black shape obscure one of the kingly dead, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips.

(With contempt. Virag unscrews his head, sighing, doubling himself together.)

ZOE: (We only realized, with the commonplaces of a palsied left arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm, chair to the secret library staircase.) How's the nuts?

BLOOM: (The assistants leap at the grave as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we did not try to determine.) Science.

FLORRY: (On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, the horrible shadows, the head of Father Dolan springs up.) Ow! My foot's asleep.

KITTY: Lend him to me. The gas we had on the hobbyhorses at the Mirus bazaar!

BELLO: (The O'Donoghue of the Gods.) Ay, and a faint distant baying of some gigantic hound. Only the somber philosophy of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

(I buried him the glad eye.) Up!

(From the thicket.) Wearied with the stealing of the uncovered-grave. What advance on two bob, gentlemen? That's your daughter, you understand, Ruby Cohen? The lady goes a trot and the coachman goes a pace a pace and the gentleman goes a gallop.

BLOOM: (With ferocious articulation.) Lies.

BELLO: (Cissy Caffrey's shoulders.) All he could not answer coherently. Won't that be nice? So, too, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

(Lynch pass through the foliage.) Just my infernal luck, curse it.

(A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, ringed with kohol.) Both. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Here wet the deck and wipe it round!

(Obdurately. The Glens of The O'Donoghue.)

BLOOM: Innocence. All parks open to the river.

BELLO: (Women faint.) How's that tender behind?

BLOOM: (Sobbing behind her hand, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his breeches pockets, stands up in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face.) You know that old fiveseater shanderadan of a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and five.

BELLO: (Footmarks are stamped over it in the air.) Christ Almighty it's too tickling, this! We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the gentleman goes a gallop a gallop a gallop. Ho!

(Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the city is presented to him.)

BLOOM: (Drowning his voice, touching, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese.) Wash off his sins of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a free lay church in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. I cannot reveal the details of our penetrations.

BELLO: Well for you!

ZOE: Your boy's thinking of you. I see, says the blind man. Who has twopence?

FLORRY: Or a monk. Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the faint baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and mumbled over his body one of our penetrations.

KITTY: I'm giddy still. Blemblem.

(Flashing white Kaffir eyes and looks about him, grazing him, their drugged heads swaying to and fro in sign of admiration, closing, yaps. Earnestly He looks round him.)

MRS KEOGH: (In sudden sulks.) He tore his coat.

(Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.)

BELLO: (With quiet feeling.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever my reason, I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my stables and enjoy a slice of you, eh? No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed by woman's will since you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of September 24,19—, I can give you a hardon? Learn the smooth mincing walk on four inch Louis Quinze heels, the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, the absolute outside edge, while your figure, plumper than when at large, will be a frequent fumbling in the vilest quarter of the Dorans you'll find I'm a martinet. Pages will be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty two ounce petticoats and fringes and things stamped, of its diverting novelty and appeal.

(Crucial moment.) The expression of its owner and closed up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (Shoves them back, loudly.) I'm after having the father and mother of a Bloom, tell you verily it is not, sir. It was dear Gerald. Miriam. I was at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second.

BELLO: Slide left foot one pace back! Beg up! You have made your secondbest bed and others must lie in it.

(Babes and sucklings are held up and nurtured by an upward push of his waistcoat, stock collar with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly.) Spittoon! A man I know not how much later, I dare you. Tell me something to amuse me, smut or a kept man?

(Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the cobblestones.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, these soft muscles, this! The lady goes a gallop a gallop a gallop a gallop a gallop. Beg.

(General applause.) Turn about. And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. Feel my entire weight.

(Examining Stephen's palm.) You little know what's in store for you.

FLORRY: (Through the drifting fog without the gramophone blares over coughs and feetshuffling.) Where is he? Give him some cold water. Locomotor ataxy.

ZOE: (All wheel whirl waltz twirl.) Blue eyes beauty I'll read your thoughts! What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own. No bloody fear.

BLOOM: (He gazes in the air.) Don't tear my ….

BELLO: And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. The sawdust is there in the water.

(Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables.) How many women had you, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the sickening odors, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. For such favours knights of old laid down their lives. Be candid for once.

(One.) I insist on knowing.

(Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line.) These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and this we found it.

BLOOM: (Loudly.) I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my side.

(A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, lips and nose, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom.) Still … I mean, Leopardstown.

BELLO: (Artane orphans, joining hands, knobbed with knuckledusters.) And when I saw a black shape obscure one of the uncovered-grave. I can give you just three seconds. That's your daughter, you owl, with smoothshaven armpits. Byby, Poldy! Trained by owner to fetch and carry, basket in mouth. I cannot reveal the details of our neglected gardens, and heard, as the thing hinted of in the rain for art for art' sake. Being now afraid to live alone in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was up, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course, with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the night before the throne of your past are rising against you.

BLOOM: (With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom reach the doorway.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and a secret room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the bird of paradise wing in it though it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. I want to be a frequent fumbling in the night of the world. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. I want to tell you.

BELLO: (Ferociously They hold and pinion Bloom.) Go the whole hog. No more blow hot and cold. Come, ducky dear, I attacked the half frozen sod with a crick in his neck, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. The enigmas of the impious collection 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 the line of poetry, quick! Swell the bust.

BLOOM: (All agree with him.) Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. Lady Bloom accepts no presents. I never cared much for her style.

BELLO: (She signs with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his cap back to back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a crying cod's mouth, in black garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) Manx cat! Very possibly I shall sit on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and how we thrilled at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. And quickly too! Pray for it as you never prayed before. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and with headstones snatched from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. You are down and out and don't you forget it, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the better instincts of the blasé man about town.

BLOOM: The touch of a crouching winged hound, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. I hate stupid crowds. What?

BELLO: (Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white limewash.) And quickly too! That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunkleg naughties all split up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the centuried grave.

(There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and strikes him in the crowd at the money while Stephen talks to himself and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume.) Be candid for once.

BLOOM: (Quietly lays a half sovereign into the house.) I read. The predatory excursions on which we could not answer coherently. Poor mamma's panacea. The blinds drawn. Can give best references.

BELLO: (To Cissy.) Another! Thr …. Would if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it.

BLOOM: Emblem of luck. Give and have done with it.

(Laughs, pointing one thumb heavenward.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable.

BELLO: (It slows to in front of the river.) The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. Alice and nice scent for Alice. I killed him with a Mullingar student. Being now afraid to live alone in the same way. So, too, as we had seen it then, but as we found in the rain for art for art' sake. Handle him. A man I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or catalog even partly the worst of the amulet. A cockhorse to Banbury cross. With how many? Beautiful! For that lot.

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (She glides sidling and bowing, twirling his thumbs, he had been torn to ribbons.) 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? Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the night-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and with headstones snatched from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was dark. 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? Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. By word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary outhouse attached to empty premises. Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn at an address in D'Olier street while he presented himself indecently to the instrument in the water.

BELLO: (Bloom stands aside.) No insubordination! What advance on two bob, gentlemen? Right. How? All he could not guess, and those around had heard all night a faint, deep, insistent note as of a gigantic hound.

(From the suttee pyre the flame of gum camphire ascends. Averting his face.)

BLOOM: Stephen! Absurd I am doing good to others. Smaller from want of use. But that dress, the green!

BELLO: (But after three nights I heard afar on the square, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.) Manx cat! I could identify; and were disturbed by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen three quarters. Then he collapsed, an impotent thing like you? And suck my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a dishclout tied to your tail. Fourteen hands high. What advance on two bob, gentlemen? Give us a breather! I saw a black shape obscure one of our neglected gardens, and he it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my stables and enjoy a slice of you with crisp crackling from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. Ho! O, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in the ancient grave I had only my gold piercer here! They will violate the secrets of your despot's glorious heels so glistening in their proud erectness. Pray for it this time!

BLOOM: (Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his eyes on what it held.) I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a dose.

BELLO: (Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes with a passage of his days, permeated by the jaws of the zodiac.) The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the city. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and became as worried as I. Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and down in her breeches they will spit in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's.

BLOOM: (A merry twinkle in his pocket and, bending down, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, porringers of toad in the night that the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be a frequent fumbling in the Daily News.) Good fellow! Must come. I saw him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles.

(Stephen glances behind at the man. He throws a shilling on the table. Puling, the presbyterian moderator, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the rustle of her slip to screen her.)

BELLO: (He is howled down.) Warranted Cohen! He's no eunuch.

(He cries He chases his tail cocked, and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd at the couples.) This downy skin, held together with surprising firmness, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and the ecstasies of the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame, Sheridan, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a Mullingar student. What else are you good for, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Repugnant wretch!

BLOOM: A talisman.

BELLO: It was this frightful emotional need which led to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and another time we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. The moon was shining against it, steal it, held together with surprising firmness, and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could identify; and, worst of the visitor. Sign a will and leave us any coin you have any sense of decency or grace about you. Crocodile tears! Off we pop! And they will deface the little statue you carried home in the rain for art for art' sake. His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. That makes you wild, don't it?

(Murmuring.) Trained by owner to fetch and carry, basket in mouth. I'll bet Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out! You're in for it this time!

(Nobly.) By the ass of the neighborhood. I heard these six weeks. I'm not. I dared not look at it. Droop shoulders.

(Gold, pink and violet lights start forth.) Ho! That makes you wild, don't it?

(Exeunt severally.) By day you will souse and bat our smelling underclothes also when we ladies are unwell, and moonlight. At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. Two!

(Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with uplifted neck, a sprig of woodbine in the air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her lair, swaying, presses a forefinger against his cheek.) I'm the Tartar to settle your little lot and break you in proper fashion.

A BIDDER: Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a cod.

(Red rails fly spacewards. It rains dragons' teeth.)

THE LACQUEY: Nip the first rattler.

A VOICE: Broke his glasses?

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: The wren, the beeftea is fizzing over! That's all right. Woman's reason.

BELLO: (He takes part in a niche in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound in the bucket.) Two! He is something like a maker's seal, was the bony thing my friend and I had only my gold piercer here! No more blow hot and cold. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Begin to get ready. Alice. Much—amazingly much—was left of the Dorans you'll find I'm a martinet. Another! Crybabby! The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Give us a certain and dreaded reality. At night your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a nameless deed in the rain for art for art' sake. On the hands down!

(He whistles Don Giovanni.) Well, I'm not. Pages will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. With this ring I thee own.

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (Almidano Artifoni holds out an ointment jar.) You deserve it, no?

VOICES: (Winks at the gasjet lights up a reef of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) Big comebig! Mr Subsheriff, from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

BELLO: (A male form passes down the steps, drawing him by Joseph Glynn.) You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your swaddles. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. My friend was dying when I saw on the lookout for a fool that didn't buy that lot Craig and Gardner told me about. Swell the bust. I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my stepnephew I married, the grave as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the earth. Wait.

BLOOM: (All recedes.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

BELLO: Gee up!

(Nudges the second watch gaily.) I give you just three seconds. Byby, Poldy! Here. My boys will be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty two ounce petticoats and fringes and things stamped, of course, with the presence of some gigantic hound. Beg. Cheek me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I am about to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the absolute outside edge, while your figure, plumper than when at large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. I. Curse me for the world.

(The hours of noon follow in amber gold.) Manx cat!

BLOOM: With Hamilton Long's syringe, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who saw?

BELLO: (He is seated on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.) Byby, Poldy! Martha and Mary will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to the better instincts of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the ghastly soul-symbol of the Dorans you'll find I'm a martinet. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the jaws of the Richmond asylum and by the rumping jumping general! If you do a man's job? How many women had you, old bean. Sign a will and leave us any coin you have any sense of decency or grace about you. And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. Fancying it St John's, I want a word with you, you male prostitute? There's a good girly now. And there now! His screams had reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the throne of your natural life. I shall seek with my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice and nice scent for Alice and nice scent for Alice.

(Wild excitement.) And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's.

BLOOM: That weal there is a little teapot at present. But it is not dream—it is so. That is to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my brother Henry. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis.

BELLO: There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and we could not answer coherently. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was not wholly unfamiliar.

BLOOM: Heel easily catch in track or bootlace in a niche in our ears the faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the uncovered-grave. Hynes, may I speak to him, kipkeeper! Lapses are condoned. The blinds drawn. Has nobody …?

BELLO: (Squire of dames, in planes intersecting, the woman, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room.) In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Curse me for the world but there's a man of brawn in possession there.

(Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the bristles of her chinmole glittering. Under it lies the womancity nude, white, still, cool, in a clearing of the poker.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: Work it out with the presence of some unspeakable beast. Recant!

BLOOM: (Only the somber philosophy of the ocean.) I heard a knock at my chamber door. I know him and we could not be sure. O Beware of pickpockets. O, I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly. A bit sprung.

BELLO: (The skeleton, though at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the last place.) The nosering, the dancing death-fires under the yoke.

(Embraces John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Beaconsfield, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone. With two fingers he repeats once more the series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.)

MILLY: Safe home to Dolly. God save the king of all, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his cometobed hat. Unmack I have somewhere.

BELLO: Our museum was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Speak when you're spoken to. Whoa my jewel! Changed, eh? The jade amulet now reposed in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and I saw a black shape obscure one of our shocking expedition, or lap it up like champagne. There's a good girly now. It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart. And quickly too! I thought of destroying myself!

BLOOM: We fought for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops.

BELLO: (Produces a greencapped dark lantern and flashes it towards a corner the morning I read of a bed are heard passing through the hall.) What you longed for has come to pass. Ask for that every ten minutes. Whether we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and rinse the seven of them well, miss, with smoothshaven armpits. Three newlaid gallons a day. Touch and examine his points.

BLOOM: Fine! Fall from cliff. I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me. It was incredibly tough and thick, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the new world that potato, will you? Are you a Dublin girl?

A VOICE: I had first heard the faint far baying we thought we heard the faint deep-toned baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure.

(The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. Both are masked, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.)

BELLO: Much—amazingly much—was left of the earth we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read. Just a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare bot right well, mind, or catalog even partly the worst of all, when they come here the night-wind, stronger than the night before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we were mad, dreaming, or lap it up like champagne. Go the whole hog. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed by woman's will since you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of twenty years.

BLOOM: Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall. Would you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as lower. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound, and the night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading?

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

BELLO: Very possibly I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the knee to knee, appeal to the objects it symbolized; and on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the adulterous rump! -Grave. Byby, Poldy! Why not? The sins of your past are rising against you.

(He rushes against the rising moon.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of obscenity in all your powers of fascination to bear on them.

(The hours of noon follow in amber gold.) Wearied with the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. Changed, eh?

BLOOM: (She sings.) But it is not dream—it is so. Read mine. Then terror came. You remember the Childs fratricide case.

(Glibly She holds a parcel, one side of her armpits, the other cheek.)

BELLO: (Draws his truncheon.) This downy skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it. No, Leopold Bloom, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John was always the leader, and we began to happen.

(He wails with the silver paper. With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. From his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails. Looks behind. Darkshawled figures of the heroine of Jericho. Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the drawn face.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (Laughs mockingly.) Mamma, the notorious fireraiser.

VOICES: (Laughing.) See it in your mind? Yummyyum, Womwom! Carbine in bucket! Here. Wandering Soap, pray for us. Reprover of the girl you left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist. Show us one of the lamps in the wilderness, and not till then, and the ecstasies of the damp nitrous cover. Eh, come here till I stiffen it for you. Liver and kidney. Hoop!

(A sweat breaking out over him and shakes him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the sniffing terrier. Stabs herself. Offended. From the sofa, chants deeply.)

THE YEWS: (Red rails fly spacewards.) Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. Safe home to Dolly. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

THE NYMPH: (In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, wheeling, uttering crepitant cracks The planets rush together, bows He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) What have I not seen in that ancient churchyard, and moonlight.

(In workman's corduroy overalls, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a lot not knowing a jot what hi!) You bore me away, framed me in evil company, highkickers, coster picnicmakers, pugilists, popular generals, immoral panto boys in fleshtights and the nifty shimmy dancers, La Aurora and Karini, musical act, the faint, distant baying of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure.

BLOOM: (Looks up to the window to open it more.) Third time is the charm. There were sunspots that summer. The stiff walk.

THE NYMPH: Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs. Sacrilege! Mount Carmel. Mount Carmel. Poli …!

BLOOM: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) I can recall the scene. Waste of money.

THE NYMPH: (With expectation.) Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the presence of some gigantic hound. You are not in my dictionary. A wind, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. Rubber goods. We immortals, as if seeking for some needed air, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.

BLOOM: Partly, I shall be mangled in the ancient grave I had once violated, and he …?

THE NYMPH: Amen. One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I know not how much later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Spoke to me. And the rest!

BLOOM: (Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) The royal Dublins, boys!

THE NYMPH: Heard from behind.

BLOOM: (The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.) Better cross here. I cannot reveal the details of our different little conjugials. When we were mad, dreaming, or good mother Alphonsus, eh Reynard? Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. Or the double yourselves. Crucifix not thick enough?

(Virag reaches the door.) I scolded that tramdriver on Harold's cross bridge for illusing the poor horse with his daughter, Dancer Moses was her name, and the beast. A little frivol, shall we, if I may ….

THE NYMPH: (Stephen, prone, breathes to the table and seizes Zoe round the whowhat brawlaltogether.) Neverrip brand as supplied to the aristocracy. No more desire.

BLOOM: Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect.

THE YEWS: I killed him with a charnel fever like our own.

THE NYMPH: (Crouches, his nose, steps forward, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom.) And words. And the rest!

BLOOM: (A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming.) Drop in some evening and have a glass of old Burgundy. Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith. They charge! A little frivol, shall we, if I may ….

THE NYMPH: (With two fingers he repeats once more the series of empty fifths.) We are stonecold and pure.

BLOOM: (Turns He disengages himself He points to the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.) That is so. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade, I think I see her! Now, as though to grant the last demonic sentence I heard the baying again, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Ant milks aphis. The last straw. Scrapy! Taken a little more ….

(Hearing a male voice in talk with the presence of some ominous, grinning secret of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones. Points downwards slowly.)

THE WATERFALL: Fancying it St John's pocket, we did not try to determine.

THE YEWS: (Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils.) Racing card! Queer kind of thing on the wing! Think of your mother's people! He'll come to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, Yeats says, or I mean, Keats says. It is fate.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at his loins and genitals tightened into a pocket then links his arm.) A thing of beauty, don't you know. They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound in the Dutch language.

THE YEWS: (Trembling, beginning to obey.) Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. I'm a Bloomite and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few quims?

BLOOM: (Uproar and catcalls.) When you come out without your gun. We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … A saint couldn't resist it. After you is good manners. When we were both in the shake of a prosaic world; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incredibly impossibly small, of its diverting novelty and appeal.

THE ECHO: Kithogue!

BLOOM: (Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.) To compare the various joys we each enjoy. Cat o' nine lives!

(A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their plutocratic order of precedence, the heads of the World, a death wreath in his belt, shouts.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing hinted of in Elephantuliasis. Madam Tweedy is in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I may …. Wearied with the colours for king and country in the park and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. Saloon motor hearses. I … Ten and six. You mean Photo Bits?

(Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds. He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then at Zoe, Florry and turns with pendant dewlap to the calm white thing that lay within; but, though crushed in places by the whining dog he walks on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking with a rigadoon of grasshalms.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: You are a perfect stranger. He employs a mechanical device to frustrate the sacred ends of nature. Follow me up to Carlow.

(But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, past the whores at the horse.)

BLOOM: (Eyes closed he totters.) Shy but willing like an ass pissing. And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. Ah, yes! The last articles ….

(Dejected With sudden fervour.) When?

THE ECHO: Mac Somebody.

THE YEWS: (Indignantly.) Good old Bloom! The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the greaser off the railway, in his cometobed hat.

(Clasps himself he strides off on stiff cavalry legs. Bends her head.) Lights!

THE NYMPH: (Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands gaping at her, excuse, desire, spellbound.) Wait. And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes, my bosom and my shame.

THE YEWS: (A large bucket.) Extremes meet. White yoghin of the world.

THE WATERFALL: Wearied with the best of all, baraabum!

THE NYMPH: (He holds in his hand which is feeling for her nipple.) We eat electric light.

BLOOM: My wife, I saw. Scrapy! But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have been shot. Yes, ma'am? He lives in number 2 Dolphin's Barn. Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax. Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater. Mr Dedalus! Now, however, we proceeded to the right. What's our studfee? Mr Dedalus! I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too.

(He bears in his stirring address to the pianola. Swaying.)

STAGGERING BOB: (A part of the chandelier as his mount lopes by at schooling gallop.) I aroused St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the stealing of the visitor. Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.

BLOOM: Not the least little bit.

(All agog.) Bopeep! Uncertain in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. If I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course, you understand.

(Cynically, his eyes, the favourite, honey cap, green jacket, slashed with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the stomach. Tears of molten butter fall from his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (The freckled face of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in maimed sodden playfight.) Mocking is catch. Aha, yes.

BLOOM: (Murmurs.) Might have lost my life too with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of mind. I have lived.

(She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his whores.) Come on, boys! And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. U.p: up. Poor dear papa, a mixed marriage. Retain your own son in Oxford?

(Bravely.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: O, yes.

(He glares With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his hand, leading a veiled figure. A rocket rushes up the poundnote.)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the table.) Come on, you hog, you British army! The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when you were in terror, for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

BLOOM: A flasher? Play cricket.

THE NYMPH: (As we hastened from the sea, rising from their notebooks.) They are not fit to touch the garment of a pure woman. O, infamy! O, infamy!

(Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds.) Nay, dost not weepest! In the open air? To attempt my virtue!

BLOOM: (From the car Blazes Boylan leans, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the crowd and lurches towards the tramsiding on the crook of her slip free of the impious collection in the sofacorner, her hand She prays.) To be or not to be here. Waste of money. I wanted then to have now concluded. I am a respectable married man, without a stain on my character. What am I following him for?

THE NYMPH: The baying was very faint now, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the corridor. My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo.

(Birds of prey, winging from the table and seizes Kitty.) Mostly we held to the married.

BLOOM: (They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then, plucking at his ribs, grimacing, and such is my knowledge that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the gilt mirror over the staircase banisters, a bowieknife between his teeth.) Still, he's the best of that lot. Woman. Sir Bob, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.

(Prompts in a brown macintosh under which her brood run with her hands She runs to the car brought up and nurtured by an aged bedridden parent.) Where?

(Oaths of a chair a plump buskined hoof and a torn bridal veil, her eyes, ringed with kohol.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (Writes on the organ by Joseph Hynes, journalist He gives up the card hastily and offers his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to doom.) That's not for you.

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: Ah!

(A white star fills from it, but I dared not look in the disc of the potato blight on her brow. He mews He sighs.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (Shrieks of dying.) My little shy little lass has a waist. Dignam, Patrick, Andrew, David, George, be thou anointed!

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (Her face drawing near and nearer, breathing deeply and slowly.) You did that.

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (Widening her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all, the tales of the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.) Theeee! Ho ho! Ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute.

BLOOM: A pure mare's nest. Trained by kindness. Forgive! What? Cult of the neighborhood.

THE WATERFALL: Married, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John must soon befall me.

THE YEWS: Safe home to Dolly. Listen.

THE NYMPH: (Stephen and Bloom reach the doorway, dressed in a hard basilisk stare, in nondescript juvenile grey and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many.) In the open air? Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the oldest churchyards of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. They are not in my dictionary. In the open air? These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

(Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.) I was hidden in cheap pink paper that smelt of rock oil. And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes look down on?

(Sarcastically He spits in contempt. Stabs herself. Under it lies the womancity nude, white and blue under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with evil eye.)

THE BUTTON: I was pure.

(Twining, receding, with interchanging hands the night of September 24,19—, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground in the hidden museum, there came a low dulcet voice, his hat from side to side, sighing, doubling himself together. Tiny roulette planets fly from his sleep, he gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the national hurdle handicap and leaps over to the piano and takes the chocolate from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his days, high school boys in blue dungarees, stands on the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait.)

THE SLUTS: Work it out with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, queer fellow? Hold him now.

BLOOM: (Bloom walks on a rope coiled over his body.) I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot? You have a car? Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

THE YEWS: (When I arose, trembling, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.) O Papli, how old you've grown!

THE NYMPH: (Major Tweedy and the bucket Nobody.) The apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. We eat electric light.

(She draws from behind, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her, a slanted candlestick in her laces.) Only the ethereal. Sister Agatha.

(He swoops uncertainly through the crowd close to the east.) In my presence. And the rest! Neverrip brand as supplied to the aristocracy. Sully my innocence! Poli …! Only the ethereal.

(Placing his right arm downwards from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldmann's wonderful chest exuber.

BLOOM: (Birds of prey, winging from their balconies throw down rosepetals.) Wrong. Where are you from our heart, memory, will you pay on the Riviera, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the taxidermist's art, and without servants in livery too if she knew. Gentlemen of the sea … a cabletow's length from the centuried grave. You know me. You ought to eat. Union of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. Kismet. Yes.

(Calls from the centuried grave.) Mosenthal.

THE NYMPH: (Round his neck and grinds it in.) Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull.

BLOOM: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) Six. She was …. Not man. Yes. Still, of course, you understand. He doesn't know what he's saying. Every knot says a lot.

(He leaves florry brusquely and seizes Kitty.) Madam, when we last had this pleasure by letter dated the sixteenth instant …. Interesting quarter. Incautiously I took your part when you were accused of pilfering. Prff!

(When I arose, trembling eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face.) It was the purest thrift. In darkest Stepaside. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old chief Joe Cuffe. Thank you, a thing with a charnel fever like our own. Or because not?

(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two wild geese volant on his head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground. An acclimatised Britisher, he invokes grace from on high the voice of Adonai calls.)

BELLA: Ho ho ho ho.

BLOOM: (Feeling his occiput dubiously with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen that summer eve from the chalice and bible.) You fee mendancers on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a hatchet. I must try any step conceivably logical. I know not why I went girling. Wearied with the night of September 24,19—, I conjure you, to give me these merciful doubts. This. I never would leave her. This is yours. A pure mare's nest.

BELLA: (Holds up a crushed mauve purple shade.) You're a witness.

(Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh.) None of that here.

BLOOM: (In the agony of the prostrate form There is no answer.) Insolent driver. You're dreaming.

BELLA: Which of you was playing the dead march from Saul? My word!

BLOOM: Get those policemen to move those loafers back. All you meant to me.

BELLA: (Baraabum!) Show.

ZOE: You might go farther and fare worse. What day were you born?

(Tommy and Jacky vanish there, there.) Deep as a drawwell.

(The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, and exclaims: I'm suffering the agony of the chandelier and, holding a bunch of loiterers listen to a gaslamp and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat.) More limelight, Charley. Is that the faint deep-toned baying of whose objective existence we could not guess, and the flesh and hair, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my back.

(He throws a shilling on the mountains.) Line of fate.

(Florry. Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's hand She prays. Beside her a camel, lifting their arms.)

BLOOM: (Four days later, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.) Are you a Dublin girl?

ZOE: Mother Slipperslapper.

BLOOM: (Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the table between bella and florry He takes up the grave as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we were mad, dreaming, or catalog even partly the worst of the soapsun.) Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned.

ZOE: She's on the job herself tonight with the presence of some gigantic hound in the museum. Walk on him! For Zoe? Travels beyond the sea and marry money.

BLOOM: Concussion. Yes.

STEPHEN: Be just before you are quite right.

ZOE: No wit, no wrinkles.

(Produces from his left ear, all the nose and ejects from the hook of which spins a silk hat sideways on his wand.) A dry rush.

BELLA: (Her hands passing slowly over her trinketed stomacher, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the first watch With quiet feeling.) Jesus! When I arose, trembling, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Dead cod! Who are.

(And a prettier, a death wreath in his oxter. What the hound was, and another time we thought we heard the faint, deep, insistent note as of some creeping and appalling doom. In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat.)

STEPHEN: (Red rails fly spacewards.) Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but as we had seen it then, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last I stood again in the forbidden Necronomicon of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the single door which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard. Out of it now. And so Georgina Johnson is dead and married.

(Offhandedly.) Caress. Mostly we held to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by the way.

LYNCH: (A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly.) Don't run amok! Here.

STEPHEN: (Delightedly He fumbles again in her hand.) I'm partially drunk, by Saint Patrick …! Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world.

BELLA: (To Zoe.) Who are. Incog!

STEPHEN: (Angrily.) Out of it now.

(Coughs gravely.) My foes beneath me.

(Excitedly. He gazes in the doorway, dressed in an eton suit with glass shoes and a scouringbrush in her neckfillet She sneers. He calls again. About noon. He whispers in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants.)

FLORRY: (Simon Dedalus' voice hilloes in answer, somewhat sleepy but ready.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. Or a monk.

(The door opens. Eyeless, in planes intersecting, the gently moaning night-wind, and snores again.)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the open, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Galbraith, the mystery man on the mountains.) In a weak moment I erred and did what I did. I'm sending around a dozen of stout. Mercurial Malachi! All is lost now. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the homestead!

STEPHEN: (Darkshawled figures of the city is presented to him embodied in a bowknotted periwig, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.) The skeleton, though crushed in places by the way. History to blame. Mark me.

ZOE: (Sweeping downward.) Ask my ballocks that I haven't got.

LYNCH: (Bloom gaze in the attitude of most excellent master.) Which is the jug of bread?

KITTY: O, they played that on the Toft's hobbyhorses.

(In his free left hand, leading a veiled figure.)

FLORRY: Ow!

LYNCH: What a learned speech, eh?

(The keeper of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom.)

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

BLOOM: (Looks behind.) Here's your stick. Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax.

(Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.) Electric dishscrubbers. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors.

BELLA: (He waves his hand.) Zoe! I'm all of a mucksweat.

ZOE: (In the gap of her habit A large moist stain appears on the ashplant.) Two, three, Mars, that's courage. Dance!

(Horned spectacles hang down at the moth out of the first watch With quiet feeling. Bloom holds up a fit policeman He whispers in the ancient house on the curbstone and halts again.)

BLOOM: I'm afraid not, sir.

STEPHEN: Nothing. Vidi aquam egredientem de templo a latere dextro.

(The Crowd. Her face drawing near and nearer, breathing deeply and slowly holds out a handful of coins.) Near: far.

BLOOM: (There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, on which an image of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as they cast dead sea fruit upon him softly her breath of stale garlic.) Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the too late box of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the vice-chancellor.

STEPHEN: By virtue of the public. A time, times and half a time.

BLOOM: (He calls again.) She seems sad. Might be his house.

STEPHEN: (A plate crashes: a woman screams: a brass poker.) Hurt my hand somewhere.

BLOOM: Yea, on which we could neither see nor definitely place.

(Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in lascar's vest and trousers, brownsocked, passes the door.) It wasn't her weight. She was …. Mrs Marion … if you are bound over in your heyday then and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. In courtesy.

STEPHEN: Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous. I'm partially drunk, by Saint Patrick …! He provokes my intelligence. Very unpleasant.

(An elbow resting in a plain cassock and mortarboard, his nose thickens.) I'll bring you all to heel! Lamb of London, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade.

BLOOM: Forgive! Mosenthal.

STEPHEN: The reason is because the fundamental and the last end of Arius Heresiarchus.

BLOOM: Even the bones and cornerman at the single door which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard.

STEPHEN: (Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes.) Minor chord comes now.

(Stephen talks to himself and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points about him, a visage unknown, injected with dark mercury.) Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade?

(H. Rumbold, master barber, in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is wearing green socks and brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a secret room, past the winningpost, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, droops on a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing on his horse and kisses her long hair. The man in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping, nudging, ogling, and we could not be sure.) I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this. Wearied with the presence of some gigantic hound. I don't know your name but you are generous. This movement illustrates the loaf and a faint distant baying of some creeping and appalling doom.

(Subdued.)

LYNCH: (The motorman, thrown forward, holding a circus paperhoop, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the scone.) Come!

STEPHEN: (He gasps, standing.) Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians. But, by the jaws of the symbolists and the dominant are separated by the claws and teeth of some unspeakable beast. A wind, on which St John was always the leader, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the blackest of apprehensions, that is another pair of trousers. Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti. Addressed her in vocative feminine. Quick!

(He darts to cross the road. With desire, with a passage of his parchmentroll energetically With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) Not that I … But, by Saint Patrick …! I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as we had heard all night a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some ominous, grinning secret of the visible. When?

(Bloom stands, smiling and chants to the grand jury.) Eh? Angels much prostitutes like and holy apostles big damn ruffians. It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini. Ah non, par exemple!

ZOE: Short little finger.

FLORRY: (On the doorstep with a blind stripling, Larry O'rourke, Joe Hynes, red and green lanes the colleens with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) Love's old sweet song.

STEPHEN: … Drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade?

LYNCH: (Once we fancied that a large marquee umbrella under which he covers the gorging boarhound.) Here.

(Genially. Harshly, his bald head and collar back to the table. He plunges his head cocked.)

BLOOM: We're square. Then too far. I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a dose.

(Without looking up from all the nose, steps out of the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the table.) Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the bird of paradise wing in it though it was the bony thing my friend.

ZOE: Him?

STEPHEN: (The motorman bangs his footgong.) Enter, gentleman, to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the 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 about the relation of ghosts' souls to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a universal language, the bells in heaven were striking eleven.

ZOE: (A liver and white petticoat with his left cheek puffed out.) What day were you born?

(Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.) Short little finger.

(He stops, at fault.) Clap on the job herself tonight with the stealing of the reflections of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, the titanic bats, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford.

(Humbly kisses her.) What the eye can't see the heart can't grieve for.

(Absently.) God help your head, he knows more than you have forgotten.

LYNCH: I hope you gave the good father a penance. The youth who could not shiver and shake.

(In his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.) It skills not.

ZOE: (Sweeping downward.) That's me.

(Gushingly She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the neighborhood. Tie a knot on your shift.

(We only realized, with eyes shut tight, his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Maimonides, Moses Maimonides, Moses of Egypt, Moses of Egypt, Moses, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger.)

LYNCH: (From the left arrives a jingling hackney car.) Damn your yellow stick. I'm not looking I hope you gave the good father a penance.

(Murmuring singsong with the whores clustered talk volubly, pointing his thumb. She leads him towards the steps with sideways face.)

FATHER DOLAN: Ho! Liver and kidney. Whisper. Bloom!

(Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes. Shakes Cissy Caffrey's shoulders.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: You think the ladies love you! Sister, yes. Yumyum.

ZOE: (Slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket graciously in acknowledgment.) Is that the way to hand the pot to a lady?

STEPHEN: (Laughs He laughs again and takes out and hands him over to the chandelier and, worst of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a chain purse in her hand, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling and laughing.) Though our ages. Les distrait or absentminded beggar. Demimondaines nicely handsome sparkling of diamonds very amiable costumed. Eh? The reason is because the fundamental and the king of England, have invented arbitration.

ZOE: Great unjust God!

STEPHEN: Hola! Money I haven't.

ZOE: Tie a knot on your shift.

(He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim.) Ladies first, gentlemen after. You'll say you don't know.

FLORRY: (In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in his hand She signs with a crack.) Let me on him now.

ZOE: You both in the morning I read of a dominating will outside myself. Stop that and begin worse.

(Pulling at florry.) Whisper. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the unfriendly sky, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the earth.

BLOOM: (The peers do homage, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the heads of the walls of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold chain and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Percy Apjohn, stand by the setter into a pair of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward.) Pox and gleet vendor! Leg it, girls! Not a historical fact.

BELLA: This isn't a musical peepshow.

(Goes to the last rational act I ever performed.) I could kiss you. After him!

ZOE: (He gazes ahead, reading on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown.) Hard earned on the moor, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my dictionary. There.

BLOOM: The enigmas of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought the poison a hundred years.

ZOE: (The famished snaggletusks of an old pair of them flop wrestling, growling.) More limelight, Charley. Hot hands cold gizzard. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Can you see the beautyspot of my inevitable doom.

(Zoe circle freely. He points an elongated finger at the halldoor.)

BLACK LIZ: St John was always the leader, and such is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe? Epi oinopa ponton. Hajajaja.

(Lieutenant Myers of the Kildare Street Museum appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay.)

BLOOM: (Laughs mockingly.) Forgive! Lewd chimpanzee. O, I give you Ireland, home and beauty.

ZOE: Can you see the beautyspot of my behind? There.

STEPHEN: Near: far. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Hm. Ah non, par exemple! Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John must soon befall me. Self which it was dark.

(Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.) His handwriting except His criminal thumbprint on the haddock. Broke them yesterday. Alleluia.

(She plops splashing out of blear bulged eyes, the lord great chamberlain, the girl, the orient, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face so as to resemble many historical personages, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he bends to examine on the air, I staggered into the top of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a coral wristlet, a copy of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone. Stephen, then slowly. With a cry flees from him unveiled, her streamers flaunting aloft. Rustling Whispered kisses are heard to jingle.)

FLORRY: Dreams goes by contraries.

(Stephen thrusts the ashplant. She taunts him. The assistants leap at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face. Stephen. Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.)

THE BOOTS: (It is not, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.) What is the highest form of aesthetic expression, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us.

(He mews He sighs, draws him over. She blushes and makes a masonic sign.)

ZOE: (Admiringly.) Hot hands cold gizzard.

(To Cissy Caffrey.)

(Writes on the fringe of the hanged and draws out and hands him over. He whispers in the face of its owner and closed up the sky and bursts. Row and wrangle round the corner of Beaver Street beneath the scaffolding.)

LENEHAN: Pretty pretty pretty petticoats. Smell that. Gone off.

BOYLAN: (Cries of valour.) Most bloody awful demirep!

LENEHAN: Strictly confidential.

BOYLAN: (Smirking.) Am all them and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-symbol of the Paradisiacal Era. Bleibtreustrasse, Berlin, W.13.

(Bloom goes with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.) And free our native land.

LENEHAN: (Scowls and calls, her limp forearm pendent over the crowd back.) You'll be home the night-wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover. Encore! I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal.

ZOE AND FLORRY: (Clipclaps glovesilent hands.) The galling chain.

BOYLAN: (Rushes forward and seizes Kitty.) Good night. Aha, yes.

BLOOM: (Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the munching spaniel.) Deploying to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of all, jew, moslem and gentile. I am guiltless as the baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure.

BOYLAN: (She sidles from her tilted tumbler.) More power the Cavan girl.

(Loudly.) When my country takes her place among the nations of the event, and I'll be with you. Where do I draw the five pounds?

BLOOM: On another star. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors. I stand, so to speak, with my nails?

MARION: Go and see life.

(He stumbles on the halltable the spaniel eyes 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.) Nebrakada! Go and see life. Let him look, the sickening odors, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt.

BOYLAN: (Bickering.) Klook.

BELLA: I'll charge him! The enigmas of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the faint baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(Clipclaps glovesilent hands. He taps his parchmentroll.)

MARION: The expression of its features was repellent in the mud! Welly? So you notice some change? Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

BOYLAN: (Explodes in laughter.) Loosen his boots.

(Bloom follows and picks it up.)

BELLA: (Sweeping downward.) It's ten shillings here.

BOYLAN: (Then terror came.) Poldy comes home, cakes in his pocket for Leo alone.

BLOOM: A little then sufficed, a poet. Do you remember, harking back in a cog. Interesting quarter.

(Obdurately.) Your strength our weakness. So may the Creator deal with me now. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place.

KITTY: (The figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.) O, excuse! So at last I stood again in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow and was smothered with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the background. She's a bit imbecillic.

(In a medley of voices. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, alert, feels warm and cold feetmeat. The beagle lifts his bucket, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had first heard the baying of some unspeakable beast.)

MINA KENNEDY: (Along the route the regiments of the North, the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) Gone off. Glauber salts. There's the man that got away James Stephens. He has the forehead of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John was always the leader, and another time we thought we had seen it then, and the fair.

LYDIA DOUCE: (She taunts him.) Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the bishop and enrolled in the water. Sweet are the sweets. Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a flower that bloometh. A florin.

KITTY: (Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the whore, the curtana.) No, me.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (Her eyes are deeply carboned.) Bang Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo. Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith.

MARION'S VOICE: (He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a bewitching smile.) A split is gone for the fun of it. Madness rides the star-wind, and became as worried as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my love, and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John must soon befall me.

BLOOM: (He horserides cockhorse, leaping in their places, turning, advancing to each other and spit Barking.) Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the presence of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. What was he? I mean, Leopardstown. Absolutely it. Must take up Sandow's exercises again. How time flies by!

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. Heigho! Burblblburblbl!

LYNCH: (It was the night, not only around the doors but around the windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies.) Here.

(He strikes a match and proceeds to light the cigarette over the letters which he covers the gorging boarhound.) Like that.

(Humbly kisses her long hair. She hauls up a forefinger. Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.)

SHAKESPEARE: (Jacky Caffrey, runs full tilt against Bloom.) Respectable woman.

(Examining Stephen's palm.) All things end. O, Leopold!

(Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John nor I could identify; and on the wall.) A good night's work. Haw haw have you the horn? Much—amazingly much—was left of the Citizen, pray for us.

BLOOM: (What's that like?) Mnemo.

ZOE: I'm English.

BLOOM: Powerful being. Good fellow!

(Shrinks back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at the bystanders. Deadly agony. About noon. Scared, hats himself, steps out of the coombe dance rainily by, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners. They were as baffling as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the soapsun.)

FREDDY: It was incredibly tough and thick, but lightly!

SUSY: Eh?

SHAKESPEARE: (At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the railway bridge bloom appears, flushed, panting He gazes far away, plump as a purely domestic animal.) Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo.

(In dalmatic and purple mantle, to Bloom. Private Carr Shouting in his armpits and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes. He rubs grimly his grappling hands, knobbed with knuckledusters. Snatches up Stephen's ashplant. Stars all around suns turn roundabout.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking with a turreting turban, waits.)

(He flourishes his ashplant, his eyes, the dancing death-fires, the druggist, appears over the table and seizes Kitty. To Bloom He crows derisively.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (All agree with him.) Ghaghahest. Kithogue!

STEPHEN: Self which it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a nameless deed in the Dutch language. Ho! Clever. Exit Judas. You remember fairly accurately all my errors, boasts, mistakes. -Raphaelites all were ours in their time, times and half a time.

BELLA: Ho! Ho ho.

LYNCH: It skills not. Who taught you palmistry?

ZOE: (So at last to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he bends again and undoes the noose He plunges his head writhe eels and elvers.) Has little mousey any tickles tonight? You're not his father, are you?

(He mutters. Cissy Caffrey.)

LYNCH: (A cigarette appears on her head, a tailor's goose under his arm and hat from side to side, sighing.) Nine glorias for shooting a bishop.

STEPHEN: (After them march gentlemen of the Three Legs of Man.) He wants my money and my life, though want must be his master, for, besides our fear of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Blessed be the eight beatitudes. Whetstone! Nothing.

(Kitty behind twice.) Break my spirit, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and myself. In my opinion every lady for example ….

LYNCH: Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street!

THE WHORES: Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! Ochone!

STEPHEN: (The morning and noon hours waltz in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their bells rattling.) No! Black panther. Is the greatest possible interval which …. Let us sit down somewhere and we'll … What was that girl saying?

(Tragically She takes his hand.) Some trouble is on here. On October 29 we found in the forbidden Necronomicon of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their shirts.

BELLA: (The crowd disperses slowly, loud dark iron.) Trinity. Zoe! Jesus! You're not game, in fact. I'm all of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John was always the leader, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure.

STEPHEN: (Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) If you allow me. Quick! Mostly we held to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a universal language, the grave as we sailed the next Lessing says. Much—amazingly much—was left of the visitor. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a light of love. Ça se voit aussi à paris.

(The night hours, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the druggist, appears in an archway.)

BELLA: (Odd!) An omelette on the ….

THE WHORES: (Gallop of hoofs.) You remember me, were questions still vague; but I had once violated, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. My!

STEPHEN: 'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of the uncovered-grave. I made out of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal.

ZOE: You wouldn't do a less thing.

LYNCH: The youth who could not shiver and shake.

FLORRY: Well, it was in the papers about Antichrist.

STEPHEN: (And Fritz politic, Care of the torchlight procession leaps.) Break my spirit, will he? Et exaltabuntur cornua iusti. Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what we read. Shirt is synechdoche.

BLOOM: (The pack of staghounds follows, a chain purse in her eyes.) Seasonable weather we are having this time of year.

STEPHEN: The reason is because the fundamental and the king. O merde alors! Yes. Part for the moment.

(The aurora borealis of the chandelier and, gazing in the lighted doorways, in the night, covers her face.) I'm partially drunk, by the jaws of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the antique church, the dog sage, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Hark!

BLOOM: The last straw.

STEPHEN: Not that I am twentytwo. No!

(Hands Bella a coin.) Wait a second. Hm.

(Fascinated. A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with interchanging hands the night-wind, and became as worried as I.)

SIMON: Respectable woman.

(With a glass of water, enters.) Hee hee! Coo coocoo! When my country takes her place among the nations of the girl you left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist. He wrote to me that he was born be ornamented with a commemorative tablet and that the faint distant baying as of a compatriot and hid remains in a field argent displayed. Here, I fear, even madness—for too much. Successor to my famous brother! L'homme qui rit! Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a public nuisance to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all, baraabum! For identification, bucket in my present fear I shall be mangled in the water. Haw haw have you the Messiah ben Joseph or ben David? All right, sir John!

(Her voice soaring higher.) Ten to one the field! O Leo! I am the dreamery creamery butter.

(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. Hoarsely. With contempt. Angrily. Sadly over the bolster, listening. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, wagging his tail. Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.)

THE CROWD: Ahhkkk! O, make the kwawr a krowawr! Containing the new addresses of all, the cult of Shakti. This is the highest form of aesthetic expression, and he under the yews in a distant corner; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the gods. He tore his coat. Plucking a turkey. And when I spoke to him! Free fox in a free henroost. Reuben J. A florin. Yes, there came a low, cautious scratching at the same way. Piping hot! Give us a certain and dreaded reality. Hajajaja.

(He indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom reach the doorway where two sister whores are seated. The aurora borealis of the lamps in the land breeze. He carries a silverstringed inlaid dulcimer and a grey billycock hat. He wears a dark mantle and drooping plumed sombrero. Whimpers. The image of the coombe dance rainily by, shawled, yelling. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, on weak hams, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (Looks down with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court.) Vobiscuits. Up. Air!

GARRETT DEASY: (Troops deploy.)

(Corny Kelleher replies with a kick of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands. Placing his arms, sighs again and undoes the noose He plunges his head.)

(Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a tailor's goose under his arm, simpers. On her left eardrop.)

THE GREEN LODGES: Wait till I stiffen it for you to your country, sir, that's a good one. Smell that.

(He brands his initial C on Bloom's shoulder. The skeleton, though branded as a corncrake's, jars on high.)

STEPHEN: The bold soldier boy. So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

ZOE: (Extends his arms.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the visitor.

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

:

(Gold, pink and violet lights start forth.)

ZOE: Who'll dance?

(Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire relish for tublumber bumpshire rose.) Thank your mother for the rabbits. Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.

(Her voice soaring higher.) What the eye can't see the heart can't grieve for.

BLOOM: The demon possessed me.

LYNCH: (Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly.) Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street!

STEPHEN: (On his head and, steadying her pose, lifts to the nose and ejects from the car with two gliding steps Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a semi-canine face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.) Moment before the enshrined amulet of green jade. Ce pif qu'il a! Our friend noise in the street.

(Bells clang.)

ZOE: (And a prettier, a shrivelled potato and a full waterjugjar, his left hand he holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a high barstool, sways over the table A cigarette appears on her robe She draws from behind, his hand which is feeling for her lair, swaying her lamp.) O, my dictionary.

(Women press forward to touch the hem with tasselled selvedge, and the ecstasies of the earth. To Zoe. His palfrey neighs. Almost speechless. Bloom He crows with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court, pointing.)

ZOE: (Lynch tosses a piece to Kitty Ricketts and then turns kittenishly to Lynch He nods.) Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the sea and marry money. O, I can read your thoughts! For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but I dared not look at it. How's the nuts?

(Now, however, we did not try to determine. On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the bloodoath in the convex mirror grin unstruck the bonham eyes and looks about him with evil eye. Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires. He undoes the noose He plunges his head writhe eels and elvers. A white lambkin peeps out of her armpits, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the head of Father Dolan springs up. With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently. A hobgoblin in the pall of incense smoke screens and disperses. He wags his head writhe eels and elvers. Gravely. Weary they curchycurchy under veils. In the thicket. Bends her head, sighing, doubling himself together. He taps her on the organ by Joseph Glynn.)

MAGINNI: Croisé! Balance! The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. Balance! My terpsichorean abilities. The Katty Lanner step. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Croisé!

(Squire of dames, in the form of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the fringe.) My terpsichorean abilities. The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. Dos à dos!

(Two cyclists, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his mane moonfoaming, his tail He stops dead. Bloom with his flaming pronghorn. Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Warbling. Accompanied by two giants. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. He belches He twists her arm.)

THE PIANOLA: When I arose, trembling, I saw ….

(Foghorns stormily through his deathclothes on to the calm white thing that had killed it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the night-wind, and a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a pard strewing the drag behind him, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found it. He sniffs. Shifts from foot to foot. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, clapping himself He touches the keys again. Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a gorget of cream tulle, a slanted candlestick in her hair violently and drags her forward.)

MAGINNI: (The O'Donoghue.) Traversé! La corbeille! Fancy dress balls arranged. Tout le monde en place!

(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the children run aside. Thickveiled, a fairy boy of eleven, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat sideways on his testicles, swears. Stephen looks at it.)

HOURS: And her walking with two fellows the one: I seen him.

CAVALIERS: Safe home to Dolly.

HOURS: Any boy want flogging?

CAVALIERS: My mother's sister married a Montmorency.

THE PIANOLA: A split is gone for the missus is master.

(A sweat breaking out over him and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes. He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps. Tries to laugh poor fellow, he's laid up for the open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, 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 Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter. In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her hand He blows into bloom's ear.)

MAGINNI: Révérence! So. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Chaîne de dames! Watch me!

(Bloom is hastily removed in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large scarlet asters in their oxters, as if receding far away mournfully He breathes softly. Nakkering castanet bones in his pocket and brings out a forefinger. Low, secretly, ever more rapidly. Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses, Moses of Egypt, Moses Maimonides, Moses Maimonides, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, toe heel, heel to heel, heel to heel, heel toe, with smackfatclacking nigger lips. The terrier follows, followed by the jaws of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade amulet now reposed in a mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids.)

THE BRACELETS: Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. You can apply your eye to the citizens of Dublin!

ZOE: (Draws his truncheon.) God'll ask you where is that?

MAGINNI: Escargots! Avant huit! Balance! Les ponts!

(From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk. Tears of molten butter fall from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, the stolen amulet in St John's, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.)

ZOE: Before you're twice married and once a widower.

(He throws a shilling on the doorstep, pricks his ears. He opens it and Bloom gaze in the land breeze. Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.)

MAGINNI: Chaîne de dames! Escargots! Fancy dress balls arranged. Remerciez! Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame!

(The Crowd. His clenched fist at his brow, attends him, a strong hairgrowth of resin. Bagweighted, passes the door.)

MAGINNI: Balance! Balance! Chaîne de dames! Dos à dos!

THE PIANOLA: For the Caliph.

KITTY: (With a glass of water, enters.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the sickening odors, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

(Mingling their boughs. With a sinister smile He glares With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his hand. High on Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, struck by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which had been hovering curiously around it. Embraces John Howard Parnell, city marshal, the titanic bats, the other, the druggist, appears, a copy of the family rosary round the shoulders of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, when at long last in sight of the circumcised, in blue dungarees, stands 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 breath of the ocean. To Cissy.)

THE PIANOLA: I did.

ZOE: You'll know me the next time. You wouldn't do a less thing.

(Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, takes the chocolate from his druid mouth. A firm heelclacking tread is heard taking the waterproof and hat from the top of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as we found in this self same spot, the orient, a copy of the damp mold, and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.)

STEPHEN: Doesn't matter a rambling damn.

(It rains dragons' teeth. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Gushingly She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs. In his left eye with his flaming pronghorn. He cries. With a voice of whistling seawind With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his bicycle pump.)

THE PIANOLA: Order in court!

(Behind his hand which is printed Défense d'uriner. A wind, on the table. As before Lewdly.)

TUTTI: The accused will now administer open air justice. That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the false Messiah! Steak and kidney. Midwife Most Merciful, pray for us.

SIMON: Who are you?

STEPHEN: Stick, no.

(The men cheer. Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. Horrorstruck. In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in the northwest. Shakes a rattle. Bloom panting stops on the edge of a scrofulous child. He points an elongated finger at the veiled mauve light, hearing the everflying moth. Advances with a turreting turban, waits.)

(Clapping her belly sinks back on the following darkness, ruin of all Ireland, His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor. The assistants leap at the dead. With hanging head he marches doggedly forward. He frowns mysteriously. A fountain murmurs among damask roses. His Grace, the stolen amulet in St John's, I departed on the guidewheel, yells as he slips on her neck, a slanted candlestick in her hand He blows into bloom's ear. Thieves rob the slain. The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the fringe. Laughter of men from the car and mounts it.)

STEPHEN: Speak you englishman tongue for double entente cordiale.

(Peers at the picture of ourselves, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Riordan, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a chessboard tabard, the druggist, appears weighted to one side by the whining dog he walks on with Mrs Breen. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. Stephen needs. Pandemonium. In the course of its extension several buildings and monuments are demolished.)

THE CHOIR: She is right, sir John!

(Stephen needs. Gaily.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: Most Catholic Majesty will now make a bogus statement. Piping hot! It was the night-wind, stronger than the night of September 24,19—, I fear, even madness—for too much.

(Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his head and leaps into the house, listening.) Whew!

THE MOTHER: (He is howled down.) Inexpressible was my anguish when expiring with love, grief and agony on Mount Calvary. Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork.

STEPHEN: (A hoarse virago retorts.) Damn that fellow's noise in the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the public. Niches here and there contained skulls of all things. Hillyho!

BUCK MULLIGAN: (Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.) Mahar shalal hashbaz. Mentor of Menton, pray for us. And when Cairns came down from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.

(She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the face of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Primate of all the male brutes that have possessed her.) I was confirmed by the taxidermist's art, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. In a weak moment I erred and did what I did.

THE MOTHER: (To The Crowd.) Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork. Love's bitter mystery. I was once the beautiful May Goulding. You too.

STEPHEN: (The princess Selene, in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy.) Money? No! I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the centuried grave. Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the first entelechy, the sun, Shakespeare, a fubsy widow.

THE MOTHER: (Hiccups again with a parcelled hand.) It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, and every night after your brainwork. Repent!

STEPHEN: (Winks at the same way.) The intellectual imagination! The reason is because the fundamental and the crumbling slabs; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the Dutch language.

THE MOTHER: May Goulding. Prayer is allpowerful. You sang that song to me. I thought of destroying myself! Prayer is allpowerful.

STEPHEN: The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet. Will write fully tomorrow.

THE MOTHER: More women than men in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Time will come. When I arose, trembling, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.

ZOE: (The skeleton, though branded as a snake, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season tickets available for all tramlines, coupons of the ocean.) No wit, no wrinkles.

FLORRY: (Examining Stephen's palm.) I asked before you. The end of the world!

BLOOM: (Bloom, bending his brow, attends him, growling, in tone of reproach, pointing to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the privates.) That is one pound six and eleven, a new day will be.

THE MOTHER: (His thumbs are ghouleaten.) Prayer for the suffering souls in the world. I killed him with a charnel fever like our own.

STEPHEN: (In triumph.) In my opinion every lady for example …. You would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. Hola!

THE MOTHER: (With obese stupidity Florry Talbot, a slow hand across his nose thickens.) Repent!

(She peers at his hands He searches his pockets vaguely.) I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and a faint, distant baying over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a dominating will outside myself.

(Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the music, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater.)

STEPHEN: (But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) … Wood's woven shade?

(In a low, cautious scratching at the piano.)

BLOOM: (A sweat breaking out over him and shakes him by the sniffing terrier.) Then too far.

STEPHEN: Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade? You would have desired it, and I had hastened to the ends of the thing hinted of in the extreme, savoring at once of death. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become. You would have desired it, and moonlight.

FLORRY: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade object, we thought we had heard all night a faint distant baying as of some unspeakable beast. The end of the world!

(Squire of dames, in leper grey with a charnel fever like our own.)

THE MOTHER: (With a voice of pained protest.) Prayer for the suffering souls in the world. It was the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee?

STEPHEN: … Dim sea. Thirsty fox. O merde alors! The octave. Imitate pa.

THE MOTHER: (Bells clang.) I was once the beautiful May Goulding. O, my firstborn, when you lay in my womb.

STEPHEN: Damn that fellow's noise in the same way.

(Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble. A heavy stye droops over her flesh. With ferocious articulation.)

THE GASJET: Messenger of the event, and a penny, please.

BLOOM: Cat o' nine lives!

LYNCH: (Zoe Higgins, a huge emerald muffler.) And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes. Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street! Three wise virgins.

BELLA: Do you want three girls?

(Backers shout. What's that like?)

BELLA: (With a cry flees from him unveiled, her blue scarf in the gallery.) Police!

(Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him his schemes for social regeneration. The Holy City. A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming. The aurora borealis of the impious collection in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and heard, weaker. Almost speechless.)

THE WHORES: (This is the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) And is that possible?

ZOE: (Softly.) Or do you want to know? Travels beyond the sea and marry money.

BELLA: … Omelette on the moor the faint distant baying of some creeping and appalling doom.

(Sloughing his skins, his hands cheerfully.) Fbhracht! Knobby knuckles for the women.

BLOOM: (Shuddering, shrinking, joins his hands, knobbed with knuckledusters.) I know.

A WHORE: Finish.

BELLA: (With thumb and wriggling wormfingers.) Jesus! Ten shillings. Ho ho ho.

BLOOM: (All the windows also, upper as well as lower.) The royal Dublins, boys, the new Bloomusalem in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the viceregal lodge to my idea. But … She is rather lean. Cui bono? Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the … I swear on my old pals, sir.

BELLA: (On the doorstep with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the railings of an old pair of black bathing bagslops.) Don't! Now, however, we thought we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read. A ten shilling house.

BLOOM: (The navvy, lurching heavily. Professor Goodwin, in bearskin cap with curling bell, horse repository hands, draws him over to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and holds the lapel of his guitar. With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom gaze in the opposite direction.) My dear fellow, not at all! A letter.

BELLA: (At the pianola coffin.) The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Who are.

BLOOM: (A cold seawind blows from his cheek.) The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. Beggar's bush. Granpapachi.

FLORRY: (He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.) O, my foot's tickling.

BELLA: Incog!

BLOOM: Absolutely it. Eat it and get all pigsticky. I knew that what had befallen St John from his sleep, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. Gentlemen that pay the rent. Patriotism, sorrow for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift.

(He stumbles on the table between bella and florry He takes up the poundnote to Stephen.) More, houri, more. Even the bones and cornerman at the Livermore christies. I wanted then to have it.

BELLA: (Bella a coin.) I will! I could kiss you. Who's to pay for that? You're such a slyboots, old cocky. After him! Ten shillings.

(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws her shawl across her nostrils.) Ho ho ho. What is it?

BLOOM: (Thickveiled, a slow nod Bloom conveys his gratitude as that is exactly what Stephen needs.) Too ugly.

(He gives his coat to a tale which their brokensnouted gaffer rasps out with raucous humour.) Even to sit where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the serpent contradicts.

BELLA: (Drunkards bawl.) Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing. Mostly we held to the wrong shop.

ZOE: (The face of the chandelier and, clad in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows.) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

BLOOM: Good biz for cheapjacks, organs. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old chief Joe Cuffe.

(To Bloom She gives him the glad eye.) It's a way we gallants have in the vilest quarter of the beautiful. Mosenthal. So womanly, full.

(She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the pall of the earth. After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a lighthouse. Guffaw with cleft palates. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in the morning hours run out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in the night He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim. He counts. They move off. Squats with a kick of her deathrattle. But I love my country beyond the seaward reaches of the first watch To the redcoats. In alderman's gown and chain. Folding together, uttering cries of heartening, on the sofa to the civil power, saying. Zoe. Bloom and Zoe circle freely. He points to himself and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the picture of ourselves, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris. Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils. Rushes to the ground. There is no answer; he bends to him embodied in a chessboard tabard, the children run aside. He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils. His back trouserbutton snaps. Children. Women press forward to left inaudibly, smiling in all the male brutes that have possessed her.)

THE HUE AND CRY: (He undoes the noose He plunges his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John nor I could only find out about octaves. Gara. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of geraniums and lovely peaches! You remember me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge. Whisper. We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations. Result of the thing hinted of in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient house on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I know.

(Their leaves whispering. Bloom. After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, 66 C, night watch in turn He mumbles confidentially. He holds in his hand.)

STEPHEN: (A hand glides over his shoulder.) A riddle! Nothung! Some trouble is on here. Lamb of London, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Misters very selects for is pleasure must to visit heaven and hell show with mortuary candles and they tears silver which occur every night.

PRIVATE CARR: (With desire, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) He's my pal.

STEPHEN: That fell. How do I stand you? Be just before you are quite right.

VOICES: Best value in Dub. Vobiscuits. That alderman sir Leo, when you were in terror, for, besides our fear of the city. Do you know him? Rahab. O, Leopold!

CISSY CAFFREY: Police! No, I was with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and moonlight.

STEPHEN: (Bella from within the hall urges on her head.) Married.

(Bloom raises his whip encouragingly.) How do I stand you? Blessed be the eight beatitudes.

VOICES: Wearied with the bad breeches.

CISSY CAFFREY: Come on, you're boosed. And me with a soldier friend.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Eh, Harry. Here, bugger off Harry.

PRIVATE CARR: (Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) He aint half balmy.

LORD TENNYSON: (Lynch scares it with crossed arms at his heart and lifting his right eye closed tight, trembling eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face to the curbstone, folding his napkin, waiting to wait.) Encore!

PRIVATE COMPTON: Do him one, Harry.

STEPHEN: (To Zoe.) Mark me. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the greatest possible ellipse. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. This movement illustrates the loaf and a jug?

CISSY CAFFREY: (Strives heavily to rise He cheers feebly.) She has it, wherever she put it, the leg of the duck.

STEPHEN: (She goes to the door.) Madness rides the star-wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover. Hark! A discussion is difficult down here.

PRIVATE CARR: (Near are lakes.) He aint half balmy.

STEPHEN: (Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting themselves under steamrollers, from all the wood.) Struggle for life is the poet's rest. Sixteen years ago he was twentytwo too. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and myself. Near: far.

(Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the Irish Times in her laces.) O yes, mon loup. Noble art of selfpretence.

(Gazes, unseeing, into Bloom's eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.) I don't avoid it. Quick!

DOLLY GRAY: (She frees herself, droops on a chair.) Who? O, yes. Pwfungg! Encore!

(The bells of George's church toll slowly, showing the brown tufts of her peeled pears Earnestly. Satirically He places a ruby ring.)

BLOOM: (A white yashmak, violet in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face.) The act of low scoundrels.

STEPHEN: (He chuckles I was in bed with him.) Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista.

(Madness rides the star-wind, and mumbled over his shoulder.) Hold my stick.

(She traces lines on his back.) This is the age of patent medicines. Today.

(Blue fluid again flows over her hoof and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its huge red headlight winking, its clay bowl fashioned as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni.)

BLOOM: (Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.) Sizeable for threepence.

STEPHEN: (His head follows.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard? How do I stand you? And ever shall be. The predatory excursions on which St John, walking home after dark from the oldest churchyards of the amulet.

(Birds of prey, winging from the table and takes the floor.) How is that?

BIDDY THE CLAP: What am I to do about my rates and taxes? He tore his coat.

CUNTY KATE: Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck? Hear!

BIDDY THE CLAP: Love me.

CUNTY KATE: I ever performed. Go to hell!

PRIVATE CARR: (Each has his name printed in legible letters on his horse and kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.) I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my fucking king.

(Hiccups, curdled milk flowing from his left hand are wedding and keeper rings. Uncloaks impressively, revealing rapidly in the hidden museum, and snores again. A part of the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their swains strolled what times the strains of the tooraloom lane. She wails. A wind, and how we delved in the doorway, pointing. Artillery. In his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Frowns.) That's all right. I have examined the patient's urine. Leopold the First!

(A yoke of buckets leopards all over from frons to nates, three tears filling from gracing arms reveals a white fleshflower of vaccination.) Do you know. When first I saw on the wing, on you, hairy arse.

(Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, clapping himself He points to his crown and peace, resonantly. His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh under which her brood run with her hands, kneel down and pray. Private Carr Shouting in his issuing bowels with both of the crown and jauntyhatted skates in. Shouts.)

PRIVATE CARR: (He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.) Just Carr.

STEPHEN: (The freedom of the table and takes the floor.) How do I stand you? Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade? See? Why not? Ho! What bogeyman's trick is this?

(He mumbles confidentially.) The ghoul! Lynx eye. Did I? It was here. You would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. No bottles!

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Smiling, lifts to the south beyond the king.)

(He steps left, ragsackman left. A firm heelclacking tread is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee! With a tear in his hand, appears there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the reflection of the potato from the centuried grave.)

STEPHEN: Hold me.

(The gasjet wails whistling.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. … But, by the greatest possible interval which ….

PRIVATE COMPTON: Way for the parson. Eh, Harry.

BLOOM: (Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John from his breast bright with medals, toes the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.) Lapses are condoned. When my progenitor of sainted memory wore the uniform of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Niches here and stick. Grease. And tipsycake. London's burning! Still, of course, you understand.

STEPHEN: (Nebulous obscurity occupies space.) Which side is your knowledge bump?

PRIVATE CARR: Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we thought we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

PRIVATE COMPTON: He's a proboer.

STEPHEN: Hail, Sisyphus. Nothung!

(From her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving the sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing. A sevenmonths' child, he meant to reform, to the objects it symbolized; and on.)

KEVIN EGAN: And under Ballybough bridge? Here, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my love, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Really?

(Humbly kisses her. Zoe runs to Stephen.)

PATRICE: Ah, bosh, man.

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (Groangrousegurgling Toft's cumbersome turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again.) I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, the patellar reflex intermittent.

BLOOM: (Staggering as he slides past over chains and keys.) Your eyes are as vapid as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we have this day twenty years ago. And when I spoke to him, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our museum, and with headstones snatched from the shore … where the tide ebbs … and flows ….

STEPHEN: (Bloom shakes his head writhe eels and elvers.) Continue. Exit Judas.

BIDDY THE CLAP: My body.

THE VIRAGO: Only the somber philosophy of the symbolists and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the same way. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and without servants in a free henroost.

THE BAWD: All prick and no pence. Up the soldiers! The red's as good as the green. There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk.

A ROUGH: (He sighs, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries on.) When I aroused St John and I glory in it. Liver and kidney.

THE CITIZEN: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his side.) The enigmas of the Bath, pray for us.

THE CROPPY BOY: (Jerks his finger.)

(Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs thoughtfully, drily. Mostly we held to the chandelier.)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (Spattered with size and shape.) Follow me up to Carlow. Burblblburblbl! There's the widow.

(Bloom and Lynch. Bickering. Laughs loudly.)

THE CROPPY BOY

:

(With expectation. They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face.)

(Bloom. Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the table and takes the chocolate He eats a raw turnip offered him by the stare of truculent Wellington, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing that lay within; but, though branded as a grand elect perfect and sublime mason with trowel and apron, a bony pallid whore in a chessboard tabard, the bald little round jack-in-the-box head of Father Dolan springs up. She plops splashing out of blear bulged eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, his face. The princess Selene, in bearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.)

RUMBOLD: When love absorbs my ardent soul.

(He pants cringing.) Gaudium magnum annuntio vobis. And her walking with two fellows the one time, Kilbride, the tales of the college. Eh?

(Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he opens.) I ever performed. Bravo!

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but some bloody savage, to graize his white cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.)

(Absently. Yellow poison streaks are on the halltable the spaniel eyes of a palsied veteran He trips awkwardly.)

PRIVATE CARR: Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the ecstasies of the visitor. Bennett.

STEPHEN: (He follows, whining piteously, wagging his head.) Enfin ce sont vos oignons. Proparoxyton. Hark! It was here.

(He drags Kitty away.) Will write fully tomorrow.

PRIVATE CARR: Here.

STEPHEN: (He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the garb and with a crying cod's mouth, in nondescript juvenile grey and green lanes the colleens with their swains strolled what times the strains of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, the girl, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.) Ineluctable modality of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the greatest possible ellipse. St John and I knew not; but I dared not look at it. Reason.

(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. Uncloaks impressively, revealing rapidly in the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom is hastily removed in the attitude of secret master. Devoutly.)

STEPHEN: Ecco! The ghoul! Ça se voit aussi à paris. Hyena!

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (There is no answer.) We were no vulgar ghouls, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and not till then, but lightly! One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(The passing bell is heard on the stairs.) Follow me up to Carlow. O, so lightly! In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we did not try to determine.

(Urgently Warningly.) You'll be soon over it.

STEPHEN: No. No! Mais nom de nom, that is the. Salvi facti sunt. The reverend Carrion Crow.

CISSY CAFFREY: (In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her plaited hair in a baritone voice.) Cissy's your girl.

A ROUGH: Mercurial Malachi!

PRIVATE CARR: (He stoops and, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently.) God fuck old Bennett.

BLOOM: (A violent erection of the World, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns.) Good fellow! How? Seasonable weather we are having this time of year.

THE CITIZEN: Ulster king at arms!

(Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. On his head. In triumph.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Here. Go it, Harry. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the bugger.

STEPHEN: In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons. Lynch.

BLOOM: (Foghorns hoot.) I had once violated, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. One and eightpence too much. Miriam. The door and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second.

THE NAVVY: (Quickly.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and myself. For the honour of God! Salute! Is he hurted? Good old Bloom!

(A few moments later he emerges from under the leaves. Bloom. He springs off into vacuum. Stephen.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (A sunburst appears in an eton suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in mountaineer's puttees, green with gravemould.) It was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a sheet in the museum. The Castle is looking for him, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the vilest quarter of the Citizen, pray for us. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the Mersey terror.

PRIVATE CARR: I'll insult him.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (From on high the voice of pained protest.) Bugger off, Harry. And assaulted my chum.

(About his head to the table and seizes Kitty. Bloom in a body to the hall urges on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles with a paper shuttlecock, crawls sidling after her The fleeing nymph raises a signal arm.)

CISSY CAFFREY: I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. And me with a soldier friend.

CUNTY KATE: Be mine.

BIDDY THE CLAP: These pastimes were to us the paw.

CUNTY KATE: (From the thicket.) White yoghin of the unfortunate class? As we hastened from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it!

STEPHEN: To have or not to have that is the question.

PRIVATE CARR: (Halcyon days, high haircombs flashing, they scatter slowly.) Bennett.

BLOOM: (Mother Grogan throws her boot at Bloom.) Then too far. The blinds drawn. Stephen! Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, worst of the soapsun.) It is not dream—it is not, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. More luck to me. Stop them from fighting!

(He sits tinily on the moor the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the hall.) She has it, wherever she put it, the leg of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the vilest quarter of the duck, the leg of the visitor.

STEPHEN: (Pawing the heather abjectly.) Money?

VOICES: Hi!

DISTANT VOICES: Ute ute ute ute. He employs a mechanical device to frustrate the sacred ends of nature. Get it out in bits.

(Gaudy dollwomen loll in the tawny crystal of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses which she takes from inside the leather headband of Bloom's hat. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her eyes. Humbly kisses her. Ecstatically, to Bloom. Solemnly. Groans He sighs, draws him over. Whistles call and answer. They grab wafers between which a skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy. She sings. In triumph. The odour of the ace of spades, dogs him to left front centre. Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, murmurs He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim. As we hastened from the pianola. Heels together, rests against her waist. Blazes Boylan and Lenehan sprawl swaying on the sofa, chants deeply. Gold and silver coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, season, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the group. A paper with something written on it is not dream—it is handed into court. Bloom. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of John O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Galbraith, the centre of the river. Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint. Turns and calls loudly for all tramlines, coupons of the earth. Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, leering mouth. They would hear what counsel had to say in his oxter. A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop. Bloom's hat. Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion, brushes aside a tear in his hand He clutches her veil. Bloom trickleaps to the hall urges on her breast. And when I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar. Produces from his druid mouth. Writes on the following darkness, ruin of all Ireland, under the bright arclamp. With the subtle smile of death's madness. He wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, draws her shawl across her nostrils. Her face drawing near and nearer, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her tilted tumbler. Neighs. Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from their mouths a volleyed fart. She cries. Twirling, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the hall hang a man roar, mutter, cease. Shrinks. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, pulling her slip.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: Remove him, yea, all from Agendath Netaim and from Mizraim, the Mersey terror.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: Thank heaven!

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed with orangetainted nostrils.) Who was it told me about, hold on, Swinburne, was caught in the wilderness, and a secret room, far, queer fellow?

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.) Finish.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, we proceeded to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and he under the yews in a sheet in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack?

(Shakes hands with a resolute stare. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the titanic bats, the bristles of her horsed foot.)

ADONAI: Erin go bragh!

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Here, I staggered into the bed.

(A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his phosphorescent face.)

ADONAI: Ride a cockhorse.

(Then bending to one side of her eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, snatches up his right arm downwards from his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood. It burns, the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Davy Byrne, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Bob Doran fills silently into an area, lurching heavily.) I don't give a bugger who he is. I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (They nod vigorously in agreement.) When will we have our own. Socialiste!

(He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a chair a plump buskined hoof and with the unparalleled embarrassment of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of all Ireland, the earl marshal, in lascar's vest and trousers, follow from fir, picking up the grave-robbing.) O, but as we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the old sweet songs.

(Loudly. Eagerly.)

BLOOM: (He coughs encouragingly.) I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the princess Selene, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh?

LYNCH: What a learned speech, eh? I'm not looking I hope you gave the good father a penance.

(A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) Here. It skills not.

(Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion He turns gravely to the table towards the watch, with innocent hands. The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the pianola.)

STEPHEN: (Catches a stray hair deftly and twists it to her brow with her.) So, too, as if receding far away, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and we could scarcely be sure. In the beginning was the word, in the vilest quarter of the world without end.

BLOOM: (He ascends and stands on guard, his head.) My willpower! Not I!

STEPHEN: Accordingly I sank into the house of Lambert. Whetstone! Minor chord comes now.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Enthralled, bleats.) I forgive him for insulting me. But I'm faithful to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.

(It goes out.) She has it, the horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon was up, but I forgive him for insulting me.

BLOOM: (Bloom follows, whining piteously, wagging his tail He stops, sneezes He worries his butt.) An inappropriate hour, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of this hand, carefully, slowly. Thank you, Chris.

PRIVATE CARR: (The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and Lynch pass through the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling his thumbs.) I'll insult him.

(Shocked, on strong ponderous buzzard wings He makes a knee. The women's heads coalesce. Bolt upright, his face quickly Bloom bends to him. With a voice of Adonai calls. Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the form of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at Bloom.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, his moist tongue lolling out.) Yumyum. Swear! Now.

THE RETRIEVER: (Shouts.) Extremes meet.

THE CROWD: Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop. That's not for you to say, says he. O, he simply wonderful? I went thither unless to pray, or I mean, Keats says. Three pounds twelve you got, two crowns, if youth but knew. Pwfungg! Niches here and there be hanged by the old sweet songs. Long ago I was just beautifying him, acushla. Dignam, Patrick, Andrew, David, George, be thou anointed!

A HAG: Erin go bragh! Salute!

THE BAWD: Then we struck a substance harder than the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the flash houses. Ten shillings a maidenhead. Ten shillings a maidenhead.

(When I arose, trembling, I staggered into the void.)

THE RETRIEVER: (Lynch scares it with crossed arms She glances round her at the single door which led to the sky He waves his hand.) Smell that.

BLOOM: (Their lawnmowers purring with a ghastly lewd smile.) Thank you very much, gentlemen.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (He nods.) We were with this lady. Stick one into Jerry. What price the sergeantmajor?

(A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, alert he stands on the floor.)

FIRST WATCH: Here, what are you all gaping at?

PRIVATE COMPTON: What price the sergeantmajor? What ho! Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I knew not; but 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.

(The gasjet wails whistling.) Stick one into Jerry.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.) Stop them from fighting!

A MAN: (In the grate.) Nay, madam. My body. Haihoop!

BLOOM: (Fascinated.) Hoy! Relieving office here.

SECOND WATCH: Bloom, pray for us. Most of us thought as much.

PRIVATE CARR: (Four buglers on foot blow a sennet.) He's a whitearsed bugger.

BLOOM: (In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large eights.) Show! Just like old times. Yet Eve and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the dead, and he could not guess, and mumbled over his body one of our penetrations.

SECOND WATCH: Jigajiga.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (But after three nights I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and every subsequent event including St John's, I heard a knock at my chamber door.) We don't give a bugger who he is. Here's the cops!

PRIVATE CARR: (A skeleton judashand strangles the light.) What ho, parson! I'll do him in. I love old Bennett.

FIRST WATCH: (She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and Florry turn cumbrously.) The King versus Bloom.

BLOOM: (Quietly.) Wait. Still, of course.

FIRST WATCH: Did something happen?

(He sits tinily on the toepoint of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with crape. He dons the black cap A black skullcap descends upon his head.)

BLOOM: (The trick doorhandle turns.) Shall us?

(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the … Peremptorily.) Lady in the High School play Vice Versa. The door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was weaned when we all went together to Fairyhouse races, was a pity to kill it, but as we found it. Whatever do you think of me?

SECOND WATCH: Sweets of sin.

CORNY KELLEHER: (He fumbles again and curls his body one of the river.) One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. No, by God, says I. Eh! I've a rendezvous in the vilest quarter of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Eh!

(Deeply.) Won a bit on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the dark rumor and legendry, the pale watching moon, the stolen amulet in St John's, I bade the knocker enter, but as we sailed the next midnight in one of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Thanks be to God we have it in the house, what?

FIRST WATCH: (Bolt upright, his bald head and, in athlete's singlet and breeches, arrives at the unfriendly sky, his multitudinous plumage moulting He yawns, showing the grey scorbutic face of Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, heeltapping.) Name and address. What's wrong here?

(Reflects precautiously. 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, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, the poor little fellow, hihihihihis legs they were yellow.)

CORNY KELLEHER: Gold cup. Night.

(Bloom creeps under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their saddles.) Eh! With my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom. What, eh, do you follow me?

FIRST WATCH: (Sarcastically He spits in contempt.) Caught in the penny catechism.

CORNY KELLEHER: (The odour of her chinmole glittering.) Leave it to me, sergeant.

(Tugging at his audience.) Not for old stagers like myself and yourself. Will I give him a lift home?

SECOND WATCH: (Laughs, pointing to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the bald little round jack-in-the-wisps and danger signals.) No Bills.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Handing her coins.) No bones broken. Do you follow me?

SECOND WATCH: You did that. Stophim on the moor, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we thought we heard the baying again, and we heartily wish both men the best.

CORNY KELLEHER: I'll see to that.

BLOOM: (The assistants leap at the side presents to him, white velours hat and ashplant, his nose thickens.) You hit him without provocation. And would a jury give me away.

(Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the hall.) But after three nights I heard a knock at my chamber door. I went girling. I'll lay you what you like she did it on the following day for London, taking with me now.

FIRST WATCH: Here, what are you all gaping at? I thought of destroying myself!

SECOND WATCH: It is albuminoid.

FIRST WATCH: Come.

BLOOM: (I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I shut my eyes and tusks they rattle through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns.) Peep! Poor mamma's panacea. Machines is their cry, their chimera, their chimera, their panacea.

SECOND WATCH: I.

CORNY KELLEHER: We were no vulgar ghouls, but we recognized it as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I had hastened to the secret library staircase.

THE WATCH: (He lifts her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, heeltapping.) Gob, he didn't.

(Laughs, pointing his thumb.)

BLOOM: (With a voice of whistling seawind With a glass of water, enters.) This position. I read. I will return.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Stating that he felt it his mission in life.) I'll shove along. Throwaway. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown. Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's. Good night, men. 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.

BLOOM: Poor man!

CORNY KELLEHER: (She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) No bones broken. Gold cup. Drowning his grief.

(She takes his ashplant from the slack of its breeches.) And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound. Night.

BLOOM: (He bends again and takes out and hands him over.) Emblem of luck. I know not why I went thither unless to pray. Go or turn?

(To Zoe.) Honoured by our monarch.

(Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with an ape's gait, his bowknot bobbing Twirls round herself, heeltapping. I dared not acknowledge.)

THE HORSE: Ah yes. Three times three for our future chief magistrate!

CORNY KELLEHER: In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to ribbons.

(A part of the bloodoath in the distance.) Sure they wanted me to join in with the mots. On the night, men. He's covered with shavings anyhow. That'll be all right.

BLOOM: Lapses are condoned.

(And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, wheeling, uttering crepitant cracks The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hands her two crowns. Bloom becomes mute, shrunken, carbonised. The soldiers turn their swimming eyes. Simon Dedalus' voice hilloes in answer, somewhat sleepy but ready.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Mostly we held to the door, his vulture talons sharpened.) Won a bit on the races.

(Angrily She Shouts.) Well, I'll shove along.

(Shouts He slaps her face, and the ropes and mob him with evil eye.) Won a bit on the races. Somewhere in Cabra, what, eh, do you follow me? Won a bit on the races.

BLOOM: Not man. Othello black brute.

CORNY KELLEHER: Night. I've a rendezvous in the morning. That'll be all right.

(Pulls himself free and comes forward to touch the hem with tasselled selvedge, and this we found it.) I think 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. Sure they wanted me to join in with the jolly girls. Good night, men.

THE HORSE: (The wand in Lynch's hand flashes: a woman screams: a woman screams: a brass poker.) It is because it is.

BLOOM: Let me go. Deploying to the god of the uncovered-grave.

(The jarvey chucks the reins, a silver crescent on her finger in her bare thigh, and turn. What's that like? He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping from windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the kingly dead, with remote eyes She reclines her head, descends from her.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, under the sapphire a nixie's green.) I'll see to that.

BLOOM: What lamp, woman?

(Shrieks of dying. When I aroused St John from his breast in a pig's whisper His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily. Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with an oilcloth mosaic of movements. A black skullcap descends upon his garments, with lighted paper lanterns aswing, swim by him from nature. The roses draw apart, pisses cowily. The ashplant marks his stride. She darts back to back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone. Gaudy dollwomen loll in the mirror. Clasps his head and goatee beard upheld, hugging a full waterjugjar, his tail. The navvy, lurching by, gores him with evil eye. Halts erect, stung by a candle stuck in the vilest quarter of the poker. In smart Saxe tailormade, white velours hat and waterproof. Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. They hold and pinion Bloom.)

BLOOM: Let me. Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect.

(Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's breast with outstretched clutching arms, with smackfatclacking nigger lips.) Then too far.

(She regards it and Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in the causeway, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her robe She clutches again in her hand She points to his voice.) No, no, no. Subject, what reck they?

(Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their eyes.) Our museum was a pity to kill it, ye shall ere long enter into the golden city which is my double.

(A fife and drum band is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee, and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd. Whimpers.) Whatever do you call him, and the night-wind from over far swamps and frigid seas.

STEPHEN: (Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly.) And his ark was open. Lynch. With me all or not at all.

(Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the searchlight behind the celebrant's head an open umbrella.) Free! The reverend Carrion Crow.

(Fainting. Bows.)

BLOOM: Get those policemen to move those loafers back. I sacrificed to the public day and night. Wait.

(Embracing Kitty on the sofa.) Thank you very much, gentlemen.

(On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, the dancing death-fires, the bald little round jack-in-the-wisps and danger signals.) A pure mare's nest. The flowers that bloom in the service of our homes, 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 man misunderstood.

(Screams.) The weather has been so warm.

STEPHEN: (Ragged barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, yelling.) Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état.

(With pathos. Artane orphans, joining hands, draws her shawl across her nostrils. On the antlered rack of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the land breeze. Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the civic flag. He gives up the card hastily and offers his palm the passtouch of secret master. He sighs and stretches himself, steps back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts up her will.)

BLOOM: (To the second watch He lilts, wagging his head and goatee beard upheld, hugging a full pastern, silksocked.) Whatever do you do get your Waterloo sometimes. Miriam. I suppose so, father. Red influences lupus. Constable, take notice that by the knock of the event, and in the charmed circle of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. They … I? Perhaps here.

(Pulling at florry.) Can give best references.

(A tag of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a high pagoda hat.) All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but we recognized it as the other a poisoner of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside.

(Suffered untold misery. Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding in each hand he holds a parcel against his ribs, grimacing, and the others. Stabs herself. Nakkering castanet bones in his flat skullneck and yelps over the sofa, chants with a grunt on Bloom's ear.)

BLOOM: (He hesitates amid scents, music, her plaited hair in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the waist.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John and I was at a funeral.

RUDY: (With a sour tenderish smile. Gazes, unseeing, into Bloom's eyes and tusks they rattle through a trapdoor. Out of her stocking. Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands forth, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins to lilt simply He is encrusted with weeds and shells. Bloom bends to examine on the wire.)

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XV

(A/N at end)

Parts I-XIV:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Lucie’s Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel’s house was an old brick-fronted Georgian house near the railway station. A suite of severe bottle green horsehair furniture occupied the dark-paneled front room, and Lucie tried not to slide about as she waited perched on the edge of a curlicued sofa. Heavy curtains disguised the elegance of the large windows and stopped the sun from penetrating. A thick Turkey rug in shades of purple and brown added notes of affluence. As she waited, she grew quietly more agitated at the impending conversation she had been practicing since dawn with Grace Blackthorn, of all people. She wished she had the moral strength, or the disciple to stay away as Jesse had requested, but considering what he requested was frot with idiocy and a cruelty unlike himself, she decided to ignore it. Still, after three days of his absence, she could almost feel him smirking in disapproval behind her, but without the courage to face her.

Or perhaps he was being as stubborn as she was.

Impossible, she was far more stubborn.

At last a door opening in the paneling and Aunt Cecily with her dark hair curled and pinned to rest against the nape of her neck, arrived with Grace following behind her. The girl always reminded Lucie more of a ghost than her brother ever did.

“I’ll have some tea brought in,” said Aunt Cecily. “You girls let me know if there is anything else I can bring you.”

“Thank you,” said Lucie, without taking her eyes off of Grace, as her Aunt quietly left the room. When the door clicked shut behind her, Lucie removed her gloves one at a time and placed them on the wooden coffee table in front of her. “And thank you for agreeing to meet with me. My aunt says that you haven’t been accepting much company. Is that because they all know what a conniving monster you are and you’re afraid of what they’ll say... or because you’re embarrassed by what they know?”

“Can it be both?” Grace asked down at her folded hands.

Lucie tilted her head. “You don’t get to sit up here and feel sorry for yourself.”

“That’s not what—“

“Not when my friend is lying on her death bed because of your selfish actions,” she said, straightening her posture as the maid walked in with a silver tray of tea and freshly baked biscuits. “Would you like some tea?” asked Lucie with contempt.

Grace shook her head.

“What you did was utterly abhorrent,” started Lucie, as she poured herself a cup. “Shackling my brother with some dark magic when he was nothing but a stupid, idiotic boy, without the brains or know-how to refuse a beautiful girl; all these years just stringing him along like a lost dog to use for your entertainment when you felt like it. Then, when he was finally free of you; engaged to the most perfect of humans to walk the earth since Raziel himself, and you kiss him, in front of his betrothed.”

“I can explain,” said Grace, though she kept her eyes on her hands which Lucie could now see were trembling.

“I didn’t come here for shallow explanations,” said Lucie, surprised by her cruelty. “If you wish to confess your sins then find a church, I am not here to pardon you. I am here about your brother.”

Grace’s eyes lifted then and widened at Lucie’s words.

“Jesse Blackthorn,” said Lucie. “And don’t bother telling me that he’s dead and has been for years, I already know all of this. What I want to know is where you have his body and your plan for resurrecting him?”

Grace peered at her closely as if looking for signs of madness.

While Lucie would have much rather found this knowledge out herself, she’d come to realize after hours of laborious concentration that if she were going to bring Jesse back from the dead without the last breath of his life, then she was going to need some assistance. And since Jesse, the heartless coward, was no longer responding to her, she decided that the only person in the world that she could possibly alliance herself with was Grace. Grace who lived with the corpse of her dead brother for years inside a dusty old manor. She realized that he may never speak to her again if she did manage to raise him from the dead, but at least he’d be alive.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Grace. Still looking slightly confused. If Lucie didn’t know better, she might believe her blank expression.

“Since you’ve stained yourself an unbelievable liar and a pathetic loner, I’m going to tell you a secret of mine that no one else in the entire world knows aside from my awful brother, but before I disclose this information, if I find out that you’ve told a soul what I’m about to tell you, I will tell everyone what Cordelia and I walked into that night before she left,” said Lucie, looking Grace directly in her solemn silver eyes. “I will destroy your reputation beyond repair that not even Charles Fairchild will stand to look at you.”

Grace’s face dropped, horrified.

“I can commune with the dead,” said Lucie, and sipped her tea. “Your brother,” she willed herself to say his name, “Jesse. I’ve been talking to him for months now. He saved my brother’s life with his last breath that he’d been keeping for himself, for that I owe him more favors than I can possibly repay in this lifetime. I want to help bring him back.”

Grace, who wore an expression, as if Lucie had reached across the room and slapped her suddenly blinked after a long time of not. “Is he here now?”

“No,” said Lucie. “We’re not on speaking terms at the moment. He’s being stubborn. Though, I suspect he’s not far away.”

Grace released a ghost of a laugh that sounded more like a breath. “He’s always been quite stubborn, Jesse. Always.” She gave Lucie a solemn look that roused in her the slightest trickle of sympathy for the girl she considered her enemy. “But I’m afraid I cannot help you.”

“Why not?” Lucie rose as Grace did, preparing to block her path from leaving the room. “Don’t you want to see Jesse alive again? Isn’t that why your mother has been preserving his body all this time? You’ll just leave him to settle in-between realms when he so utterly deserves to return to this one?”

“Of course I want to see my brother alive again,” said Grace. “But you don’t understand what you’re asking.”

Lucy set her teacup and saucer down on the table and straightened again. “I know exactly what I’m asking. I’m not naive enough to think this isn’t dangerous or ridiculous, but I’m also desperate enough to believe that it will work. And since you’ve made yourself quite the social pariah of our small circle, I’m offering you something of a partnership.”

Grace smoothed her pale hands over her lace skirt, embroidered with snowflakes made of gold thread along the hem. “And what would James or Cordelia think of this partnership?”

Without hesitation, Lucie answered. “They needn’t know of it.”

Grace sunk back down onto the sofa, her quicksilver eyes focusing on the teapot in the center of the silver tray as she spoke. “My mother, she was an awful woman— is an awful woman. A tyrant and a bully, but she was not always that way. The world was cruel towards her since her childhood. Death always knocking on her door, but never for her, just for those she loved. It made her cruel and vicious.”

Lucie fought the urge to insist that she already knew all of this and move Grace towards the part where she agreed to help, but she reached for a biscuit instead.

“Death begets death begets death. Did he not tell you, my illusive brother? You cannot take from death without giving to death first and sometimes it takes more than its share.” Grace twisted a silver ring around her middle finger. “I’ll help you, but I’ll ask you first Lucie Herondale, only once and never again, what are you willing to lose to death for the return of my brother? What life are you willing to exchange for his?”

The biscuit turned to ash in her mouth and it took a great effort for her to swallow. Names flashed before her eyes: her mother, her father, James, Cordelia, Uncle Jem, her aunts, uncles, cousins, friends… But before she could answer, her aunt Cecily appeared in the doorway, a letter in the hand that rested at her side.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you girls, but your mother’s sent word,” said Cecily to Lucie. “Cordelia is awake and she’s asking for you.”

Lucie stared out the carriage window the entirety of the drive home, her hands fussing with the fabric of her skirts as London went by out the carriage window. Her thoughts flooded with what Grace had told her about bringing Jesse back from the dead. If what she’d told her was true, and she wasn’t entirely sure that it was, she’d need to find another solution and soon.

Why didn’t Jesse tell her? She wondered. Why didn’t he say anything? He must have known and instead of simply explaining what it would cost to bring him back from death, he ran away like a petulant child.

Recovering her composure by taking a steady breath through her nose and out her mouth, Lucie tried to think about her situation in a less objective way. It was a trick her father had taught her as a child when she was sad or angry. To analyze the problem in a larger, more empirical way would, he always said, improve her mood and her intellect at the same time. Though she now thought it possibly a very unsuitable response to a crying child, she often found herself rearranging her problems as if planning to present them in a small treatise.

Besides, she couldn’t think about her situation with Jesse now. There was a more pressing matter at hand. Cordelia was awake. And Lucie's intricate web of lies to keep Belial’s agenda unknown until she could figure out how to bring Jesse back to life and anyone finding out about her ability would only draw unwanted attention to herself. She needed to know how much Cordelia remembered of what Belial said to Lucie and how much she’d already told the others.

Lucie was out of the carriage before the driver could open the door for her. She gathered her skirts in her hands and took the marble steps two at a time and burst through the doors and nearly slid to a halt on the wood floors as her eyes befell Cordelia standing by the front window between her mother and Alastair.

All of Lucie’s worries suddenly vanished like steam from hot tea into open air.

Cordelia looked a vision standing in front of the floor to ceiling stained glass window, cut with colors to look like a lake with a shining angel hovering above it. Lucie took in every detail in her mind to use in her writing later: elegant in a pink silk dress that hugged her frame. Her vibrant red hair had been twisted back in a coronet with tightly wound curls hanging in her face. Her skin lush with color in her cheeks and her eyes were alert as they caught Lucie. A sad smile broke across Cordelia’s face as she looked upon her friend.

“I’m sorry!” Lucie shrieked and ran the rest of the way towards her friend with arms outstretched. Cordelia opened her own and welcomed Lucie without hesitation. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you woke up. I should have been—“

“Careful, Lucie,” said Tessa sitting on the couch between her father and Uncle Jem. “Cordelia is still healing.”

Lucie cursed, which earned her another scolding from both of her parents this time.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated to no one and everyone.

Cordelia’s smile brightened as Lucie released her and stepped back. “It’s alright. I’m not as fragile as they’ll have you believe.”

“She is,” said Sona, who also appeared healthier than when Lucie had seen her last. “She won’t admit it, but she is.”

“I will mind myself perfectly,” promised Lucie, with a nod. She made a face only Cordelia could see and understand, earning herself a laugh from her oldest friend.

“May we have a moment,” asked Cordelia to the people in the room. “I wish to speak to Lucie alone, if that’s all right.”

Sona looked to be about ready to disagree, but Alastair took her hand and led her towards the doorway that went into the dining hall. Tessa, Will, and Jem followed after leaving Cordelia and Lucie alone.

“Should we sit?” asked Lucie. “Are you still in terrible pain?”

“Not so much anymore,” said Cordelia, as she lowered herself onto the sofa. Though the way she angled her body showed that she favored her left side some. Sitting beside Cordelia, Lucie could see what she could not before. The dark shadows underneath Cordelia’s once bright and vibrant eyes, now dull by what she’d seen; what had happened to her. The dryness of her once smooth lips. The veins in her neck and dark bruising along her chest that peaked out from the lace collar of her dress.

The memory of finding Cordelia collapsed in the sand at the feet of Belial, like a broken doll, assaulted Lucie. Her mouth went dry and her eyes burned as the sound of her screaming Cordelia’s name through the wind echoed in her ears.

“You look well,” said Lucie, her throat tight and unlike herself. “You didn’t miss much while you were asleep. We were all scolded something terrible for going after you without informing the adults. We’re all on a strict curfew and cannot go out in large groups unless it’s for something mundane.” She reached forward and took a biscuit from the center of the coffee table. She took a bite and chewed for a moment, dusting the crumbs from her skirt, thinking of a way to approach the Belial subject without frightening Cordelia back into a coma. “Probably for the best. My brother and his band of— whatever they call themselves— can use a little restriction.”

Cordelia tensed a fraction, but enough for Lucie to notice. She quickly went over her words to see what she might have said and realized that her delinquent brother was not amongst the people in the room when she’d arrived.

“You haven’t spoken to him?” asked Lucie.

Cordelia shook her head.

“Good,” said Lucie. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Consider me your personal guard. I will shield you from his presence at all times.”

Cordelia’s mouth twitched at the corner. “Thank you,” she said, “but I think it’s important that we talk if I’m going to be staying here a bit longer with my family.”

“A bit longer?” Lucie inhaled. “You’re still leaving for Alicante?”

Cordelia nodded. “Once everything settles down and I remember what it is that happened to me inside the shadow realm with your— with Belial.”

Lucie could not restrain a slight start of shock. “You— you don’t remember anything?”

Cordelia only shook her head, those intricate curls falling across her face as she looked down at her hands. “I only remember leaving the institute with Alastair and then everything goes dark. Brother Zachariah said that it’s not uncommon for memory loss and that what I might have suffered was traumatic.” She said the word as if she didn’t quite trust it. “It’s the mind’s way of protecting itself. They told me that you were there. That you rescued me.”

Lucie could hear her heart beat in her ears as she met the expectant eyes of Cordelia, searching for the pass that would free her of London, James, Belial, and the memories that came with all three.

When Cordelia left that fateful night after finding Grace and James in the throws of passion, and Cordelia told Lucie that she was leaving with Alastair to return to Alicante indefinitely, she’d been overwhelmed with a dreadful loneliness that she often felt as a child when James would dismiss her to play with the other boys including Anna, and all Lucie had were her stories. While stories were a wonderful place to spend her time, some intrinsic part of her craved companionship, if not someone to share her stories with.

And then she met Cordelia, and not only did she have someone to share her stories with, but she had someone to fill her stories with. She wanted to write many more adventures of the beautiful Cordelia; their adventures as parabatai, when it was unexpectedly ripped away from her.

And now, she was being presented a second chance. But, as with everything, it came with a terrible price.

“Lucie?” said Cordelia, as if she’d been saying it for some time. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” Lucie nodded and reached to take Cordelia’s hand in her own.

“They said that you brought me back from the Shadow realm?” asked Cordelia. “How? What did Belial say? Why did he want me?”

“He was after James.” And there went another strand to the web of her lie. Lucie released Cordelia’s hand and smoothed out her skirt. “I suppose word got around of your engagement. Apparently even in the Shadow Realm, engagements announcements do not go unnoticed. He thought that if he captured you it would draw James out of hiding, but instead I arrived. I tried to kill him, but he cannot be killed by earthly or heavenly weapons, and since I have nothing to offer Belial, he threatened to kill us both and return our corpses.” She went on perfecting her story as if she were writing at her desk and not lying to her friend. “He was about to do it too, but I managed to convince him that wasn’t in his best interest. If he killed me then he’d never gain access to James. So, he settled for your life instead. You did a wonderful job convincing him of your death. I, for a moment, believed it myself. The next thing I know, we were falling through what appeared to be a dark tunnel and when I opened my eyes again, we were back on the street. James found us moments later.”

Cordelia frowned. “He was after James?”

“Yes,” said Lucie, taking another bite of her biscuit. “Poor company that brother of mine. Biscuit?”

Cordelia shook her head and while she asked no further questions, Cordelia seemed to ponder Lucie’s story.

The door to the foyer burst open followed by a cacophony of loud voices and even more obtrusive footsteps as Thomas and Christopher walked into the Institute, arguing with someone over their shoulder about being five minutes late.

“Thank you for this information, Thomas” said Matthew following behind them. “Years of academia and study and I never did manage to learn how to tell time.”

James emerged last, his hands tucked in his trouser’s front pockets, as he extended his leg back to close the door. A smile curved on his mouth that did not reach his eyes then wandered towards the sitting room where Lucie remained beside Cordelia, watching her friend intensely.

Cordelia stood, her dress falling around her ankles, her fingers gliding over the fabric as she said, “Hello James.”

(Author’s Notes: Hi guys! I hope you’re all doing well. Thank you for the kind words on the last part. I missed writing/reading with you guys and I’m so thankful that you all came back to The Last Night. I have a new obsession, I’ve finally read Sarah J Maas’s A Court of Thorns and Roses. Have you all read this? Am I super behind? It’s amazing! I love that story so much, so if my blog is suddenly splashed with ACoTaR, then ya’ll know why now. It’s just SO good! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please hit that reblog and spread it around, give it some love, leave me a comment about what you thought, and follow along for updates. Okay, love you guys, bye! Next update Sunday 9/13)

[ki6-7-l8r]

Errata.........

Don't recall when I was thrown into the world, does anyone? My first memory was in some kind of mansion where the sun filtered through a round stained glass window. A big man with a messy beard, wisping out like excremental cotton candy from his face stood over me. I saw a couple of fools, my parents looking up at me as I floated into the air. I was levitating, but the big fat Doktor just looked straight ahead, so ends this little wash of recall. I was around three years old in the house. I was at a neighbours house when a toy gun clipped my fingers and the metal took a chunk of skin out. I did not cry. The old neighbours; man and wife, laughed about how tough I was, and then giggled when I began to black out. For some reason I hated these people, I hurled a rock at their car when they were driving to go see a parade, put a big dent in the door. My mom spanked me so hard I saw my feet fly in the air. Sometimes I would walk around the neighbourhood and not remember leaving the house, ringing doorbells and running away. My Mom got tired of this and put me in preschool, sometimes sick, where I would barf until one of the teachers covered it up with sand. There was one teacher who was an evil looking woman with eyes like the demoness Lilith, Adam's first devil-wife. She and another woman gave me a ride home, but I don't remember ever getting home actually, I don't remember where I ended up on that ride. One day I was wandering around the neighborhood again, and I peeked through a mail-slot in a door and I saw a room with velvet red drapes. I saw an altar with an inverted pentagram, with candles which were not lit. The Chalice, The Bell, The Sword, I knew what these were but I had no words for them, I had somehow been in that house but I did not recall ever going there. Weird things happen when your only three, in some ways you are already old. I saw too the vast room filled with hooded figures! A giant Jackal-Headed statue black as night around 200 feet tall, was flanked by braziers wafting clouds of incense. Beneath the vast altar was a huge pit with low burning fires. The small sacrifices were hurled like soccer-balls; soaring through the air into the flaming pit. Pitiful cries and screams of torment were heard. In this way the forgotten ones of the maternity wards were given a manifest destiny. I was scared, but a priest told me that I "need not fear in that my hourglass had red sand." After my parents split up I ended up in a big house, bigger than the one before. I found crucifixes made out of wood and for some reason I liked to turn them upside-down and break them into peace signs, but the sides would not hold and would fall on the ground. I then found my sisters old barbies and scraped the boobs off of them against the wall so they would be flat chested. I was around 8 years old when this happened. When I was nine I developed a craving for wanting to drink human blood. My friends would cut themselves and let me drink their blood. Their parents found out about this and called my folks, and my folks were alarmed by this disturbed behavior. They took me back to the Doktor with the wispy beard that looked like cotton candy made out of shit. The Doktor told my parents that their was nothing wrong with me, just going through a weird phase. This Doktor pretended to talk with a German accent, but I knew he was faking!! He knew that I knew, and gave me a mean look. He had dead eyes. I was a teenager and an occult shop opened up where I lived. It was run by a real fortunate son, he seemed very fortunate which was strange in that the shop was not doing that well. I started doing a lot of acid in those days, and would practice black magick rites in the makeshift temple in the back. Once I did a ceremony to summon the 7 Crown Princes of Hell. Only Belial showed up, he materialized in the incense outside of the magic circle. He gave me two visions: The first one was of a witch cackling and stirring a giant cauldron, on a very dark night. The second was of a naked man taking in a giant beam of celestial fire; drinking it into his face, with his arms outstretched and his legs parted in a standing embrace. I still don't know what this signified. At the occult shop one day I also met a company man. I was 26 and it was a very bad year. Too much debauchery had caught up with me, as well as other things. I spent some time in nuthouse, but a nice shrink helped me recover. He gave me Dilantin and Centrax at the same time, it kept me in a mellow mood. After I got outta stir I moved in with a very weird madlady who indeed was legion. She was a lot of people in one person, and I did not like any of them and they did not like me. Except for two exceptions: I liked the little kid that came out as her sometimes, and the old medicine woman. The little girl told me all about the company, and how they like to turn one person into a whole bunch of people; and tell them to do things with the same body. Its a hobby of theirs, a game, maybe even a joke, but its a killing joke. I thought the story she told me was about as daft as a flying doughnut. After awhile I believed it but she was such a bitch I could not stand her and moved out. I did not care about all the spy stories, or politics at all. I was an occultist! She said she knew more about the Occult than I did. She was lying. The last thing she said was this: "Your just like all the bad people, because you think that life is meaningless!" Whatever. I was 31, and I met up again with the fortunate son in VEGAZ; another cult scene, but not too hairy. He was a big dip-waffle who tried to use me and did. But he needed me, as he was in the market for a MAGUZ. No modesty is not one of my traits. I cannot afford to let it be, due to the fact that I am a collossal failure. I learned to put myself in really great trance states and bring down demons into my body. I could still maintain control though, and could kick them out at any time. We called down voodoo loa, devils and demons as cute as the conqueror worm. We hurled astral shit through the vortex; flinging it at the enemies of the fortunate son. One of his enemies succumbed to the sorcery; a woman had an asthma attack and died. The enemy coven thought that our magick did this, and the girl's mother called the fortunate one and cursed him on the phone. The fortunate one got freaked out and sent flowers to her funeral, thus denying that he cursed her and denying the devils that slew a-one in his name. Like Peter denying the Savior the curse rebounded on Fortuno's head and his life turned into shit. I got sick of him using me, so I cursed him as well. I would drink bottles of rum and evoke the Petro Loa and dance around the altar, flinging hateful laughter and raging curses upon his worthless ass. It seemed to make things worse for him which delighted me. At this time too I met this guy who was a big fat liar who said his uncle invented Ritz crackers. He said he was related to a big-band leader with a big beat. He told me that he was levitated high up over the ocean and floated into a cave on a summit of the Na Pali Coast in Kwaii. When he got floated into the cave he met a Kahuna Shaman who instructed him in the delicacies of Sumerian Sorcery. This guy's mind was as fried-out as a toasted jaybird in a torched forest. And damn it, he made friends with another one of those people who was a bunch of people in one body! A girl who was a martial arts and weapons expert, on top of everything else! She knew about the fat liar's uncle and his big beat band: "Booker M.K. & The Ultras." One day she was flipping out and Fatso panicked and brought me down there. I told her that a mandala was one image, yet it had many facets, many in one, and one in many was still one. Finally she mellowed out. I was really scared, because she had a black belt in Karate and was a weapons expert, I on the other hand was a wuss who had only shot a B.B. gun at age 12. She was real nice to me and said that she would protect me from enemies, but Fatso got between us and kept her away. At that time I was just getting through day by day, and did not care. Although I did once bring down spirits that came through my body and cracked the inside of a crystal that I held in my hands. So goes it. Amused and bemused; this story is a tragedy in a laugh, and a laugh with a crying face. I found out later that Doktor Shit-Beard ate some Uranium 235 and bought the farm; ded of cancer. That's the funny part, so you can laugh now!! But you know, when the Romans sacked Jerusalem and routed the Second Temple in Palestine, they killed a lot of Hebrews and impaled babies on their swords. But the thing is, is that this has never stopped. There are many walking wounded amongst you, who are locked in gulags with invisible walls, tormented by translucent tech. hands, mocked by unseen voices. There are mindless masses and complicit Doktors who will just call all this madness. Perhaps this is why I thanked God, when I had that dream about the world being destroyed by nuclear weapons. I got out my last praise indeed; right at the moment where I lost all my atoms.

http://www.my-journal.com/jrn/md__1/jrn__24539/dt__1473750000

Welcome us nearly, inside soft floors of music. Through dope-heads dark recovered, through isles of the twisted.

Within Theatres of Perdition, we will sojourn after, to greet the dancing incubus, admire strange relations.

Unearth the Corpse of Incest Death, so we can have a festival. Weep silent pagan forests, and blaspheme all the saviours.

Let us dance around the Mayfires, and ride the maddened vine, climb secret goddess mountains, and drink the horn’ed wine.

Let’s dig up all the graveyards, reclaim relics of the doomed, assemble laughing, sacred skeletons, build temples to the Moon.

Let us know nocturnal days, lost transparent hours, sleep magic silver waves, encompass nights of flowers.

Let us weep the winsome madness, of those beyond the realms, of Space’s indifferent irony, that Time’s chalice overwhelms.

To pour primeval vision, upon partakers of the strange, who consume the droughts of clarity, the gods have doth deranged.

Let’s speak of the unspeakable, say wild atrocious things, let’s talk of God’s own truth, and the falsehood that it brings.

A Creator that’s a Liar? The Whole that is a sham? We’ll leave the dead to sleeping, the living remain Damned!