Ulysses

face of the bloody globe. His head aslant, he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying his hat from side to side, shrinking quickly to the size of his trainbearers. The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, Easter-kissing, zigzag behind him. His voice is heard mellow from afar, merciful, male, melodious.

Shall carry my heart to thee,
Shall carry my heart to thee,
And the breath of the balmy night
Shall carry my heart to thee.

The trick doorhandle turns. The Doorhandle Theeee. Zoe The devil is in that door. A male form passes down the creaking staircase and is heard taking the waterproof and hat from the rack. Bloom starts forward involuntarily and, half closing the door as he passes, takes the chocolate from his pocket and offers it nervously to Zoe. Zoe Sniffs his hair briskly. Hum. Thank your mother for the rabbits. I’m very fond of what I like. Bloom Hearing a male voice in talk with the whores on the doorstep, pricks his ears. If it were he? After? Or because not? Or the double event? Zoe

Tears open the silverfoil. Fingers was made before forks. She breaks off and nibbles a piece, gives a piece to Kitty Ricketts and then turns kittenishly to Lynch. No objection to French lozenges? He nods. She taunts him. Have it now or wait till you get it? He opens his mouth, his head cocked. She whirls the prize in left circle. His head follows. She whirls it back in right circle. He eyes her.

Catch.

She tosses a piece. With an adroit snap he catches it and bites it through with a crack. Kitty Chewing. The engineer I was with at the bazaar does have lovely ones. Full of the best liqueurs. And the viceroy was there with his lady. The gas we had on the Toft’s hobbyhorses. I’m giddy still. Bloom In Svengali’s fur overcoat, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the door. Then, rigid, with left foot advanced, he makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and gives the sign of past master drawing his right arm downwards from his left shoulder. Go, go, go, I conjure you, whoever you are. A male cough and tread are heard passing through the mist outside. Bloom’s features relax. He places a hand in his waistcoat, posing calmly. Zoe offers him chocolate. Bloom Solemnly. Thanks. Zoe Do as you’re bid. Here. A firm heelclacking is heard on the stairs. Bloom Takes the chocolate. Aphrodisiac? But I thought it. Vanilla calms or Mnemo. Confused light confuses memory. Red influences lupus. Colours affect women’s characters, any they have. This black makes me sad. Eat and be merry for tomorrow. He eats. Influence taste too, mauve. But it is so long since I. Seems new. Aphro. That priest. Must come. Better late than never. Try truffles at Andrews. The door opens. Bella Cohen, a massive whoremistress enters. She is dressed in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the hem with tasselled selvedge and cools herself, flirting a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen. On her left hand are wedding and keeper rings. Her eyes are deeply carboned. She has a sprouting moustache. Her olive face is heavy, slightly sweated and fullnosed, with orangetainted nostrils. She has lace pendant beryl eardrops. Bella My word! I’m all of a mucksweat. She glances around her at the couples. Then her eyes rest on Bloom with hard insistence. Her lace fan winnows wind towards her heated face, neck and embonpoint. Her falcon eyes glitter. The Fan Flirting quickly, then slowly. Married, I see. Bloom Yes⁠ ⁠… Partly, I have mislaid⁠ ⁠… The Fan Half opening, then closing. And the missus is master. Petticoat government. Bloom Looks down with a sheepish grin. That is so. The Fan Folding together, rests against her eardrop. Have you forgotten me? Bloom Nes. Yo. The Fan Folded akimbo against her waist. Is me her was you dreamed before? Was then she him you us since knew? Am all them and the same now we? Bella approaches, gently tapping with the fan. Bloom Wincing. Powerful being. In my eyes read that slumber which women love. The Fan Tapping. We have met. You are mine. It is fate. Bloom Cowed. Exuberant female. Enormously I desiderate your domination. I am exhausted, abandoned, no more young. I stand, so to speak, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the too late box of the general postoffice of human life. The door and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the law of falling bodies. I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my left glutear muscle. It runs in our family. Poor dear papa, a widower, was a regular barometer from it. He believed in animal heat. A skin of tabby lined his winter waistcoat. Near the end, remembering king David and the Sunamite, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. A dog’s spittle, as you probably⁠ ⁠… He winces. Ah! Richie Goulding Bagweighted, passes the door. Mocking is catch. Best value in Dub. Fit for a prince’s liver and kidney. The Fan Tapping. All things end. Be mine. Now. Bloom Undecided. All now? I should not have parted with my talisman. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the sea rocks, a peccadillo at my time of life. Every phenomenon has a natural cause. The Fan Points downwards slowly. You may. Bloom Looks downwards and perceives her unfastened bootlace. We are observed. The Fan Points downwards quickly. You must. Bloom With desire, with reluctance. I can make a true black knot. Learned when I served my time and worked the mail order line for Kellett’s. Experienced hand. Every knot says a lot. Let me. In courtesy. I knelt once before today. Ah! Bella raises her gown slightly and, steadying