Ulysses

apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. No more desire. She reclines her head, sighing. Only the ethereal. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o’er the waters dull. Bloom half rises. His back trousers’ button snaps. The Button Bip! Two sluts of the Coombe dance rainily by, shawled, yelling flatly. The Sluts

O Leopold lost the pin of his drawers
He didn’t know what to do,
To keep it up,
To keep it up.

Bloom Coldly. You have broken the spell. The last straw. If there were only ethereal where would you all be, postulants and novices? Shy but willing like an ass pissing. The Yews Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their skinny arms aging and swaying. Deciduously! The Nymph Sacrilege! To attempt my virtue! A large moist stain appears on her robe. Sully my innocence! You are not fit to touch the garment of a pure woman. She clutches in her robe. Wait, Satan. You’ll sing no more lovesongs. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. She draws a poniard and, clad in the sheathmail of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his loins. Nekum! Bloom Starts up, seizes her hand. Hoy! Nebrakada! Cat of nine lives! Fair play, madam. No pruning knife. The fox and the grapes, is it? What do we lack with your barbed wire? Crucifix not thick enough? He clutches her veil. A holy abbot you want or Brophy, the lame gardener, or the spoutless statue of the watercarrier or good Mother Alphonsus, eh Reynard? The Nymph With a cry, flees from him unveiled, her plaster cast cracking, a cloud of stench escaping from the cracks. Poli⁠ ⁠… ! Bloom Calls after her. As if you didn’t get it on the double yourselves. No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you. I tried it. Your strength our weakness. What’s our studfee? What will you pay on the nail? You fee men dancers on the Riviera, I read. The fleeing nymph raises a keen. Eh! I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me. And would a jury give me five shillings alimony to morrow, eh? Fool someone else, not me. He sniffs. But, Onions. Stale. Sulphur. Grease. The figure of Bella Cohen stands before him. Bella You’ll know me the next time. Bloom Composed, regards her. Passée. Mutton dressed as lamb. Lone in the tooth and superfluous hairs. A raw onion the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. And take some double chin drill. Your eyes are as vapid as the glass eyes of your stuffed fox. They have the dimensions of your other features, that’s all. I’m not a triple screw propeller. Bella Contemptuously. You’re not game, in fact. Her sowcunt barks. Fohracht! Bloom Contemptuously. Clean your nailless middle finger first, the cold spunk of your bully is dripping from your cockscomb. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself. Bella I know you, canvasser! Dead cod! Bloom I saw him, kipkeeper! Pox and gleet vendor! Bella Turns to the piano. Which of you was playing the dead march from Saul? Zoe Me. Mind your cornflowers. She darts to the piano and bangs chords on it with crossed arms. The cat’s ramble through the slag. She glances back. Eh? Who’s making love to my sweeties? She darts back to the table. What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is my own. Kitty disconcerted coats her teeth with the silver paper. Bloom approaches Zoe. Bloom Gently. Give me back that potato, will you? Zoe Forfeits, a fine thing and a superfine thing. Bloom With feeling. It is nothing but still a relic of poor mamma. Zoe

Give a thing and take it back
God’ll ask you where is that
You’ll say you don’t know
God’ll send you down below.

Bloom There is a memory attached to it. I should like to have it. Stephen To have or not to have, that is the question. Zoe Here. She hauls up a reef of her slip, revealing her bare thigh and unrolls the potato from the top of her stocking. Those that hides knows where to find. Bella Frowns. Here. This isn’t a musical peepshow. And don’t you smash that piano. Who’s paying here? She goes to the pianola. Stephen fumbles in his pocket and, taking out a banknote by its corner, hands it to her. Stephen With exaggerated politeness. This silken purse I made out of the sow’s ear of the public. Madam, excuse me. If you allow me. He indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom. We are all in the same sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch. Dans ce bordel où tenons nostre état. Lynch Calls from the hearth. Dedalus! Give her your blessing for me. Stephen Hands Bella a coin. Gold. She has it. Bella Looks at the money, then at Zoe, Florry and Kitty. Do you want three girls? It’s ten shillings here. Stephen Delightedly. A hundred thousand apologies. He fumbles again and takes out and hands her two crowns. Permit, brevi manu, my sight is somewhat troubled. Bella goes to the table to count the money while Stephen talks to himself in monosyllables. Zoe bounds over to the table. Kitty leans over Zoe’s neck. Lynch gets up, rights his cap and clasping Kitty’s waist, adds his head to the group. Florry Strives heavily to rise. Ow! My foot’s asleep. She limps over to the table. Bloom approaches. Bella
Zoe
Kitty
Lynch
Bloom Chattering and squabbling. The gentleman⁠ ⁠… ten shillings⁠ ⁠… paying for the three⁠ ⁠… allow me a moment⁠ ⁠… this gentleman pays separate⁠ ⁠… who’s touching it?⁠ ⁠… ow⁠ ⁠… mind who you’re pinching⁠ ⁠… are you staying the night or a short time?⁠ ⁠… who did?⁠ ⁠… you’re a liar, excuse me⁠ ⁠… the gentleman paid down like a gentleman⁠ ⁠… drink⁠ ⁠… it’s long after eleven. Stephen At the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence. No bottles! What, eleven? A riddle. Zoe Lifting up her pettigown and folding a