BRONZE BY GOLD HEARD THE HOOFIRONS, STEELYRINING IMPERthnthn thnthnthn.
Chips, picking chips off rocky thumbnail, chips. Horrid¹! And gold flushed more.

A husky fifenote blew.

Blew. Blue bloom is on the

Gold pinnacled² hair.

A jumping rose on satiny breasts of satin, rose of Castille.

Trilling, trilling: I dolores.

Peep! Who's in the... peepofgold?

Tink cried to bronze in pity.

And a call, pure, long and throbbing⁴. Longindying call.

Decoy. Soft word. But look! The bright stars fade. O rose! Notes chirruping answer. Castille. The morn is breaking.

Jingle⁵ jingle jaunted jingling⁶.

Coin rang. Clock clacked.

Avowal⁷. Sonnez. I could. Rebound⁸ of garter. Not leave thee. Smack⁹. La cloche! Thigh¹⁰ smack. Avowal. Warm. Sweetheart, goodbye!

Jingle. Bloo.

Boomed crashing chords. When love absorbs. War! War! The tympanum.

A sail! A veil awave upon the waves.

Lost. Throstle fluted¹³. All is lost now.

Horn. Hawhorn.

When first he saw. Alas¹⁵!

Full tup. Full throb³.

Warbling. Ah, lure¹⁶! Alluring¹⁷.

Martha! Come!

Clapclop. Clipclap. Clappyclap.

Goodgod henev erheard inall.

Deaf bald Pat brought pad knife took up.

A moonlight nightcall: far: far.

I feel so sad. P. S. So lonely blooming.

Listen!

The spiked¹⁹ and winding²⁰ cold seahorn. Have you the? Each and for other plash and silent roar.

Pearls: when she. Liszt's rhapsodies. Hissss.

You don't?

Did not: no, no: believe: Lidlyd. With a cock with a carra.

Black.

Deepsounding. Do, Ben, do.

Wait while you wait. Hee hee. Wait while you hee.

But wait!

Low in dark middle earth. Embedded²³ ore.

Naminedamine. All gone. All fallen.

Tiny, her tremulous fernfoils of maidenhair.

Amen! He gnashed in fury.

Fro. To, fro. A baton²⁴ cool protruding²⁵.

Bronzelydia by Minagold.

By bronze, by gold, in oceangreen of shadow. Bloom. Old Bloom.

One rapped, one tapped with a carra, with a cock.

Pray for him! Pray, good people!

His gouty fingers nakkering.

Big Benaben. Big Benben.

Last rose Castille of summer left bloom I feel so sad alone. Pwee! Little wind piped wee.

True men. Lid Ker Cow De and Doll. Ay, ay. Like you men. Will lift your tschink with tschunk.

Fff! Oo!

Where bronze from anear? Where gold from afar? Where hoofs²⁶?

Rrrpr. Kraa. Kraandl.

Then, not till then. My eppripfftaph. Be pfrwritt.

Done.

Begin!

Bronze by gold, Miss Douce's head by Miss Kennedy's head, over the crossblind of the Ormond bar heard the viceregal hoofs go by, ringing steel.

-- Is that her? asked Miss Kennedy.

Miss Douce said yes, sitting with his ex, pearl grey and eau de Nil²⁷.

-- Exquisite²⁸ contrast, Miss Kennedy said.

When all agog²⁹ Miss Douce said eagerly:

-- Look at the fellow in the tall silk.

-- Who? Where? gold asked more eagerly.

-- In the second carriage, Miss Douce's wet lips said, laughing in the sun. He's looking. Mind till I see.

She darted³⁰, bronze, to the backmost corner, flattening³¹ her face against the pane³² in a halo of hurried breath.

Her wet lips tittered:

-- He's killed looking back.

She laughed:

-- O wept! Aren't men frightful³³ idiots?

With sadness.

Miss Kennedy sauntered sadly from bright light, twining a loose hair behind an ear. Sauntering sadly, gold no more, she twisted twined a hair. Sadly she twined in sauntering gold hair behind a curving ear.

-- It's them has the fine times, sadly then she said.

A man.

Bloowho went by by Moulang's pipes, bearing in his breast the sweets of sin, by Wine's antiques in memory bearing sweet sinful words, by Carroll's dusky battered³⁴ plate, for Raoul.

The boots to them, them in the bar, them barmaids came. For them unheeding him he banged on the counter his tray of chattering³⁵ china. And

-- There's your teas, he said.

Miss Kennedy with manners transposed the teatray down to an upturned lithia crate³⁶, safe from eyes, low.

-- What is it? loud boots unmannerly asked.

-- Find out, Miss Douce retorted, leaving her spyingpoint.

-- Your beau, is it?

A haughty³⁷ bronze replied:

-- I'll complain to Mrs de Massey on you if I hear any more of your impertinent insolence³⁸.

-- I mperthnthn thnthnthn, bootsnout sniffed³⁹ rudely, as he retreated as she threatened as he had come.

Bloom.

On her flower frowning Miss Douce said:

-- Most aggravating⁴⁰ that young brat⁴¹ is. If he doesn't conduct himself I'll wring⁴² his ear for him a yard long.

Ladylike in exquisite contrast.

-- Take no notice, Miss Kennedy rejoined.

She poured in a teacup tea, then back in the teapot tea. They cowered⁴³ under their reef of counter, waiting on footstools, crates⁴⁴ upturned, waiting for their teas to draw. They pawed their blouses, both of black satin, two and nine a yard, waiting for their teas to draw, and two and seven.

Yes, bronze from anear, by gold from afar, heard steel from anear, hoofs ring from afar, and heard steelhoofs ringhoof ringsteel.

-- Am I awfully⁴⁶ sunburnt?

Miss Bronze unbloused her neck.

-- No, said Miss Kennedy. It gets brown after. Did you try the borax with the cherry laurel water?

Miss Douce halfstood to see her skin askance in the barmirror gildedlettered where hock and claret glasses shimmered⁴⁹ and in their midst a shell.

-- And leave it to my hands, she said.

-- Try it with the glycerine, Miss Kennedy advised.

Bidding her neck and hands adieu Miss Douce

-- Those things only bring out a rash, replied, reseated. I asked that old fogey in Boyd's for something for my skin.

Miss Kennedy, pouring now fulldrawn tea, grimaced⁵¹ and prayed:

-- O, don't remind me of him for mercy'sake!

-- But wait till I tell you, Miss Douce entreated⁵³.

Sweet tea Miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with little fingers.

-- No, don't, she cried.

-- I won't listen, she cried.

But Bloom?

Miss Douce grunted⁵⁴ in snuffy fogey's tone:

-- For your what? says he.

Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear, to speak: but said, but prayed again:

-- Don't let me think of him or I'll expire. The hideous⁵⁵ old wretch⁵⁶! That night in the Antient Concert Rooms.

She sipped⁵⁸ distastefully her brew⁵⁹, hot tea, a sip⁵⁷, sipped sweet tea.

-- Here he was, Miss Douce said, cocking her bronze head three quarters, ruffling⁶⁰ her nosewings. Hufa! Hufa!

Shrill⁶¹ shriek⁶² of laughter sprang from Miss Kennedy's throat. Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils⁶³ that quivered imperthnthn like a shout in quest.

-- O! shrieking⁶⁴, Miss Kennedy cried. Will you ever forget bis goggle⁶⁵ eye?

Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, shouting:

-- And your other eye!

Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner's name. Why do I always think Figather? Gathering⁶⁶ figs⁶⁷ I think. And Prosper⁶⁸ Loré's huguenot name. By Bassi's blessed virgins⁷¹ Bloom's dark eyes went by. Bluerobed, white under, come to me. God they believe she is: or goddess. Those today. I could not see. That fellow spoke⁷². A student. After with Dedalus' son. He might be Mulligan. All comely⁷³ virgins. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her white.

By went his eyes. The sweets of sin. Sweet are the sweets.

Of sin.

In a giggling⁷⁴ peal⁷⁵ young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye. They threw young heads back, bronze gigglegold, to let freefly their laughter, screaming, your other, signals to each Other, high piercing notes.

Ah, panting, sighing. Sighing, ah, fordone their mirth died down.

Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, raised, drank a sip and giggle-giggled. Miss Douce, bending again over the teatray, ruffled⁷⁶ again her nose and rolled droll⁷⁷ fattened⁷⁸ eyes. Again Kennygiggles, stooping her fair pinnacles⁷⁹ of hair, stooping, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of her mouth her tea, choking in tea and laughter, coughing with choking, crying:

-- O greasy⁸⁰ eyes! Imagine being married to a man like that, she cried. With his bit of beard!

Douce gave full vent⁸¹ to a splendid yell, a full yell of full woman, delight, joy, indignation.

-- Married to the greasy nose! she yelled.

Shrill, with deep laughter, after bronze in gold, they urged each other to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold goldbronze, shrilldeep, to laughter after laughter: And then laughed more. Greasy I knows. Exhausted⁸², breathless their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the counterledge. All flushed (O!), panting, sweating (O!), all breathless.

Married to Bloom, to greaseaseabloom.

-- O saints above! Miss Douce said, sighed above her jumping rose. I wished I hadn't laughed so much. I feel all wet.

-- O, Miss Douce! Miss Kennedy protested. You horrid thing!

And flushed yet more (you horrid!), more goldenly.

By Cantwell's offices roved Greaseabloom, by Ceppi's virgins, bright of their oils. Nannetti's father hawked⁸⁵ those things about, wheedling⁸⁶ at doors as I. Religion pays. Must see him about Keyes's par⁸⁷. Eat first. I want. Not yet. At four, she said. Time ever passing. Clockhands turning. On. Where eat? The Clarence, Dolphin. On. For Raoul. Eat. If I net five guineas with those ads. The violet silk petticoats. Not yet. The sweets of sin.

Flushed less, still less, goldenly paled.

Into their bar strolled Mr Dedalus. Chips, picking chips off one of his rocky thumbnails. Chips. He strolled.

-- O welcome back, Miss Douce.

He held her hand. Enjoyed her holidays?.

-- Tiptop.

He hoped she had nice weather in Rostrevor.

-- Gorgeous, she said. Look at the holy show I am. Lying out on the strand⁸⁸ all day.

Bronze whiteness.

-- That was exceedingly naughty of you, Mr Dedalus told her and pressed her hand indulgently. Tempting⁹⁰ poor simple males.

Miss Douce of satin douced her arm away.

-- O go away, she said. You're very simple, I don't think.

He was.

-- Well now, I am, he mused⁹². I looked so simple in the cradle they christened me simple Simon.

-- You must have been a doaty, Miss Douce made answer. And what did the doctor order today?

-- Well now, he mused, whatever you say yourself. I think I'll trouble you for some fresh water and a half glass of whisky.

Jingle.

-- With the greatest alacrity⁹³, Miss Douce agreed.

With grace of alacrity towards the mirror gilt⁹⁵ Cantrell and Cochrane's she turned herself. With grace she tapped a measure of gold whisky from her crystal keg. Forth⁹⁶ from the skirt of his coat Mr Dedalus brought pouch⁹⁷ and pipe. Alacrity she served. He blew through the flue two husky fifenotes.

-- By Jove, he mused. I often wanted to see the Mourne mountains. Must be a great tonic⁹⁸ in the air down there. But a long threatening comes at last, they say. Yes, yes.

Yes. He fingered shreds⁹⁹ of hair, her maidenhair, her mermaid¹⁰⁰'s, into the bowl. Chips. Shreds. Musing¹⁰¹. Mute.

None not said nothing. Yes.

Gaily¹⁰² Miss Douce polished a tumbler, trilling:

-- O, Idolores, queen of the eastern seas!

-- Was Mr Lidwell in today?

In came Lenehan. Round him peered Lenehan. Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge. Yes, Mr Bloom crossed bridge of Yessex. To Martha I must write. Buy paper. Daly's. Girl there civil. Bloom. Old Bloom. Blue Bloom is on the rye.

-- He was in at lunchtime, Miss Douce said.

Lenehan came forward.

-- Was Mr Boylan looking for me?

He asked. She answered:

-- Miss Kennedy, was Mr Boylan in while I was upstairs?

She asked. Miss voice of Kennedy answered, a second teacup poised¹⁰³, her gaze upon a page.

-- No. He was not.

Miss gaze of Kennedy, heard not seen, read on. Lenehan round the sandwichbell wound his round body round.

-- Peep! Who's in the corner?

No glance of Kennedy rewarding him he yet made overtures¹⁰⁴. To mind her stops. To read only the black ones: round o and crooked¹⁰⁵ ess.

Jingle jaunty¹⁰⁶ jingle.

Girlgold she read and did not glance. Take no notice. She took no notice while he read by rote⁸⁴ a solfa fable¹⁰⁷ for her, plappering flatly:

-- Ah fox met ah stork¹⁰⁸. Said thee fox too thee stork: Will you put your bill down inn my troath and pull upp ah bone?

He droned in vain. Miss Douce turned to her tea aside.

He sighed, aside:

-- Ah me! O my!

He greeted Mr Dedalus and got a nod.

-- Greetings from the famous son of a famous father.

-- Who may he be? Mr Dedalus asked.

Lenehan opened most genial¹⁰⁹ arms. Who?

-- Who may he be? he asked. Can you ask? Stephen, the youthful bard¹¹⁰.

Dry.

Mr Dedalus, famous fighter, laid by his dry filled pipe.

-- I see, he said. I didn't recognize him for the moment. I hear he is keeping very select company. Have you seen him lately?

He had.

-- I quaffed¹¹¹ the nectarbowl with him this very day, said Lenehan. In Mooney's en ville and in Mooney's sur mer. He had received the rhino¹¹² for the labour of his muse⁹¹.

He smiled at bronze's teabathed lips, at listening lips and eyes.

-- The élite of Erin hung upon his lips. The ponderous¹¹³ pundit¹¹⁴, Hugh MacHugh, Dublin's most brilliant scribe and editor, and that minstrel boy of the wild wet west who is known by the euphonious¹¹⁶ appellation¹¹⁷ of the O'Madden Burke.

After an interval¹¹⁸ Mr Dedalus raised his grog and

-- That must have been highly diverting, said he. I see.

He see. He drank. With faraway mourning mountain eye. Set down his glass.

He looked towards the saloon door.

-- I see you have moved the piano.

-- The tuner was in today, Miss Douce replied, tuning¹²⁰ it for the smoking concert and I never heard such an exquisite player.

-- Is that a fact?

-- Didn't he, Miss Kennedy? The real classical, you know. And blind too, poor fellow. Not twenty I'm sure he was.

-- Is that a fact? Mr Dedalus said.

He drank and strayed away.

-- So sad to look at his face, Miss Douce condoled¹²¹.

God's curse on bitch's bastard¹²³.

Tink to her pity cried a diner's bell. To the door of the diningroom came bald Pat, came bothered Pat, came Pat, waiter of Ormond. Lager for diner. Lager without alacrity she served.

With patience Lenehan waited for Boylan with impatience¹²⁴, for jingle jaunty blazes boy.

Upholding the lid he (who?) gazed in the coffin¹²⁵ (coffin?) at the oblique¹²⁶ triple (piano!) wires. He pressed (the same who pressed indulgently her hand), soft pedalling a triple of keys to see the thicknesses of felt advancing, to hear the muffled¹²⁷ hammerfall in action.

Two sheets cream vellum paper on reserve two envelopes when I was in Wisdom Hely's wise Bloom in Daly's Henry Flower bought. Are you not happy in your home? Flower to console me and a pin cuts lo. Means something, language of flow. Was it a daisy? Innocence¹²⁸ that is. Respectable girl meet after mass. Tanks awfully muchly. Wise Bloom eyed on the door a poster, a swaying mermaid smoking mid²² nice waves. Smoke mermaids¹²⁹, coolest whiff of all. Hair streaming: lovelorn. For some man. For Raoul. He eyed and saw afar on Essex bridge a gay hat riding on a jauntingcar. It is. Third time. Coincidence.

Jingling on supple¹³⁰ rubbers it jaunted from the bridge to Ormond quay¹³¹. Follow. Risk it. Go quick. At four. Near now. Out.

-- Two pence, sir, the shopgirl dared to say.

Aha... I was forgetting... Excuse...

And four.

At four she. Winsomely¹³² she on Bloohimwhom smiled. Bloo smi qui go. Ternoon. Think you're the only pebble¹³³ on the beach? Does that to all. For men.

In drowsy¹³⁴ silence gold bent¹³⁵ on her page.

From the saloon a call came, long in dying. That was a tuningfork the tuner had that he forgot that he now struck. Acall again. That he now poised that it now throbbed¹³⁶. You hear? It throbbed, pure, purer, softly and softlier, its buzzing prongs. Longer in dying call.

Pat paid for diner's popcorked bottle: and over tumbler tray and popcorked bottle ere he went he whispered, bald and bothered, with Miss Douce.

-- The bright stars fade...

A voiceless song sang from within, singing:

-- ... the morn is breaking.

A duodene of birdnotes chirruped bright treble answer under sensitive hands. Brightly the keys, all twinkling, linked, all harpsichording, called to a voice to sing the strain of dewy morn, of youth, of love's leavetaking, life's, love's morn.

-- The dewdrops pearl...

Lenehan's lips over the counter lisped a low whistle of decoy.

-- But look this way, he said, rose of Castille.

Jingle jaunted by the curb¹⁴⁰ and stopped.

She rose and closed her reading, rose of Castille. Fretted¹⁴¹ forlorn, dreamily rose.

-- Did she fall or was she pushed? he asked her.

She answered, slighting:

-- Ask no questions and you'll hear no lies.

Like lady, ladylike.

Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the barfloor where he strode. Yes, gold from anear by bronze from afar. Lenehan heard and knew and hailed him:

-- See the conquering hero comes.

Between the car and window, warily¹⁴³ walking, went Bloom, unconquered hero. See me he might. The seat he sat on: warm. Black wary¹⁴⁴ hecat walked towards Richie Goulding's legal bag, lifted aloft saluting¹⁴⁵.

-- And I from thee...

-- I heard you were round, said Blazes Boylan.

He touched to fair Miss Kennedy a rim⁵² of his slanted¹⁴⁶ straw. She smiled on him. But sister bronze outsmiled her, preening¹⁴⁷ for him her richer hair, a bosom¹⁴⁸ and a rose.

Boylan bespoke¹⁴⁹ potions.

-- What's your cry? Glass of bitter? Glass of bitter, please, and a sloegin for me. Wire in yet?

Not yet. At four he. All said four.

Cowley's red lugs¹⁵⁰ and Adam's apple in the door of the sheriff's office. Avoid. Goulding a chance. What is he doing in the Ormond? Car waiting. Wait.

Hello. Where off to? Something to eat? I too was just. In here. What, Ormond? Best value in Dublin. Is that so? Diningroom. Sit tight there. See, not be seen. I think I'll join you. Come on. Richie led on. Bloom followed bag. Dinner fit for a prince.

Miss Douce reached high to take a flagon, stretching her satin arm, her bust¹⁵¹, that all but burst, so high.

-- O! O! jerked Lenehan, gasping¹⁵² at each stretch. O!

But easily she seized her prey¹⁵³ and led it low in triumph.

-- Why don't you grow? asked Blazes Boylan.

Shebronze, dealing¹⁵⁴ from her jar thick syrupy liquor for his lips, looked as it flowed (flower in his coat: who gave him?), and syrupped with her voice:

-- Fine goods in small parcels.

That is to say she. Neatly¹⁵⁵ she poured slowsyrupy sloe.

-- Here's fortune, Blazes said.

He pitched a broad coin down. Coin rang.

-- Hold on, said Lenehan, till I...

-- Fortune, he wished, lifting his bubbled ale.

-- Sceptre will win in a canter, he said.

-- I plunged¹⁵⁶ a bit, said Boylan winking¹⁵⁷ and drinking. Not on my own, you know. Fancy of a friend of mine.

Lenehan still drank and grinned at his tilted¹⁵⁸ ale and at Miss Douce's lips that all but hummed, not shut, the oceansong her lips had trilled. Idolores. The eastern seas.

Clock whirred. Miss Kennedy passed their way (flower, wonder who gave), bearing away teatray. Clock clacked.

Miss Douce took Boylan's coin, struck boldly the cashregister. It clanged. Clock clacked. Fair one of Egypt teased and sorted in the till and hummed and handed coins in change. Look to the west. A clack. For me.

-- What time is that? asked Blazes Boylan. Four?

O'clock.

Lenehan, small eyes ahunger on her humming, bust ahumming, tugged¹⁵⁹ Blazes Boylan's elbowsleeve.

-- Let's hear the time, he said.

The bag of Goulding, Collis, Ward⁹⁴ led Bloom by ryebloom flowered tables. Aimless he chose with agitated¹⁶⁰ aim, bald Pat attending, a table near the door. Be near. At four. Has he forgotten? Perhaps a trick. Not come: whet¹⁶¹ appetite. I couldn't do. Wait, wait. Pat, waiter, waited.

Sparkling bronze azure¹⁶² eyed Blazure's skyblue bow and eyes.

-- Go on, pressed Lenehan. There's no-one. He never heard.

-- ... to Flora's lips did hie.

High, a high note, pealed¹⁶³ in the treble, clear.

Bronzedouce, communing with her rose that sank and rose, sought Blazes Boylan's flower and eyes.

-- Please, please.

He pleaded over returning phrases of avowal.

-- I could not leave thee...

-- Afterwits, Miss Douce promised coyly.

-- No, now, urged Lenehan. Sonnezlacloche! O do! There's no-one.

She looked. Quick. Miss Kenn out of earshot. Sudden bent. Two kindling¹⁶⁴ faces watched her bend.

Quavering the chords strayed from the air, found it again, lost chord, and lost and found it faltering¹⁶⁵.

-- Go on! Do! Sonnez!

Bending, she nipped a peak of skirt above her knee. Delayed. Taunted¹⁶⁶ them still, bending, suspending, with wilful¹⁶⁷ eyes.

-- Sonnez!

Smack. She let free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic¹⁶⁸ garter smackwarm against her smackable woman's warmhosed thigh.

-- La cloche! cried gleeful Lenehan. Trained by owner. No sawdust there.

She smilesmirked supercilious¹⁷⁰ (wept! aren't men?), but, lightward gliding¹⁷¹, mild she smiled on Boylan.

-- You're the essence of vulgarity, she in gliding said.

Boyland, eyed, eyed. Tossed to fat lips his chalice¹⁷², drankoff his tiny chalice, sucking the last fat violet syrupy drops. He spellbound eyes went after her gliding head as it went down the bar by mirrors, gilded⁴⁷ arch for ginger¹⁷³ ale, hock and claret glasses shimmering¹⁷⁴, a spiky¹⁷⁵ shell, where it concerted, mirrored, bronze with sunnier bronze.

Yes, bronze from anearby.

-- ... Sweetheart, goodbye!

-- I'm off, said Boylan with impatience.

He slid his chalice brisk away, grasped his change.

-- Wait a shake, begged Lenehan, drinking quickly. I wanted to tell you. Tom Rochford...

-- Come on to blazes, said Blazes Boylan, going.

Lenehan gulped¹⁷⁶ to go.

-- Got the horn or what? he said. Wait. I'm coming.

He followed the hasty creaking shoes but stood by nimbly by the threshold, saluting forms, a bulky with a slender.

-- How do you do Mr Dollard?

-- Eh? How do? How do? Ben Dollard's vague bass⁶⁹ answered, turning an instant from Father Cowley's woe¹⁷⁷. He won't give you any trouble, Bob. All Bergan will speak to the long fellow. We'll put a barleystraw in that Judas Iscariot's ear this time.

Sighing, Mr Dedalus came through the saloon, a finger soothing¹⁷⁸ an eyelid¹⁷⁹.

-- Hoho, we will, Ben Dollard yodled jollily. Come on, Simon, give us a ditty. We heard the piano.

Bald Pat, bothered waiter, waited for drink orders, Power for Richie. And Bloom? Let me see. Not make him walk twice. His corns. Four now. How warm this black is. Course nerves a bit. Refracts (is it?) heat. Let me see. Cider. Yes, bottle of cider.

-- What's that? Mr Dedalus said. I was only vamping, man.

-- Come on, come on, Ben Dollar called. Begone, dull care. Come, Bob.

He ambled¹⁸⁰ Dollard, bulky slops, before them (hold that fellow with the: hold him now) into the saloon. He plumped him Dollard on the stool. His gouty paws plumped chords. Plumped stopped abrupt¹⁸¹.

Bald Pat in the doorway¹⁸² met tealess gold returning. Bothered he wanted Power and cider. Bronze by the window watched, bronze from afar.

Jingle a tinkle¹⁸³ jaunted.

Bloom heard a jing, a little sound. He's off. Light sob¹⁸⁴ of breath Bloom sighed on the silent bluehued flowers. Jingling. He's gone. Jingle. Hear.

-- Love and war, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. God be with old times.

Miss Douce's brave eyes, unregarded, turned from the crossblind, smitten¹⁸⁵ by sunlight. Gone. Pensive¹⁸⁶ (who knows?), smitten (the smiting¹⁸⁷ light), she lowered the dropblind with a sliding cord. She drew down pensive (why did he go so quick when I?) about her bronze over the bar where bald stood by sister gold, inexquisite contrast, contrast inexquisite nonexquisite, slow cool dim seagreen sliding depth of shadow, eau de Nil.

-- Poor old Goodwin was the pianist that night, Father Cowley reminded them. There was a slight difference of opinion between himself and the Collard grand.

There was.

-- A symposium¹⁸⁸ all his own, Mr Dedalus said. The devil wouldn't stop him. He was a crotchety old fellow in the primary stage of drink.

-- God, do you remember? Ben bulky Dollard said, turning from the punished keyboard. And by Japers I had no wedding garment.

They laughed all three. He had no wed⁴⁵. All trio laughed. No wedding garment.

-- Our friend Bloom turned in handy that night, Mr Dedalus said. Where's my pipe by the way?

He wandered back to the bar to the lost chord pipe. Bald Pat carried two diners' drinks, Richie and Poldy. And Father Cowley laughed again.

-- I saved the situation, Ben, I think.

-- You did, averred¹⁸⁹ Ben Dollard. I remember those tight trousers too. That was a brilliant idea, Bob.

Father Cowley blushed to his brilliant purply lobes¹⁹¹. He saved the situa. Tight trou. Brilliant ide.

-- I knew he was on the rocks, he said. The wife was playing the piano in the coffee palace on Saturdays for a very trifling¹⁹² consideration and who was it gave me the wheeze¹⁹³ she was doing the other business? Do you remember? We had to search all Holles street to find them till the chap in Keogh's gave us the number. Remember?

Ben remembered, his broad visage wondering.

-- By God she had some luxurious¹⁹⁵ opera cloaks and things there.

Mr Dedalus wandered back, pipe in hand.

-- Merrion square style. Balldresses, by God, and court dresses. He wouldn't take any money either. What? Any God's quantity of cocked hats and boleros and trunkhose. What?

-- Ay, ay, Mr Dedalus nodded. Mrs Marion Bloom has left off clothes of all descriptions.

Jingle haunted down the quays¹⁹⁶. Blazes sprawled¹⁹⁷ on bounding tyres.

Liver and bacon. Steak and kidney pie. Right, sir. Right, Pat.

Mrs Marion met him pike hoses. Smell of burn of Paul de Kock. Nice name he.

-- What's this her name was? A buxom¹⁹⁸ lassy. Marion.

-- Tweedy.

-- Yes. Is she alive?

-- And kicking.

-- She was a daughter of...

-- Daughter of the regiment¹⁹⁹.

-- Yes, begad. I remember the old drummajor.

Mr Dedalus struck, whizzed, lit, puffed²⁰¹ savoury puff²⁰⁰ after.

-- Irish? I don't know, faith. Is she, Simon?

Puff after stiff, a puff, strong, savoury, crackling.

-- Buccinator muscle is... What?... Bit rusty²⁰²... O, she is... My Irish Molly, O.

He puffed a pungent²⁰³ plumy blast.

-- From the rock of Gibraltar... all the way.

They pined in depth of ocean shadow, gold by the beerpull, bronze by maraschino, thoughtful all two, Mina Kennedy, 4 Lismore terrace, Drumcondra with Idolores, a queen, Dolores, silent.

Pat served uncovered dishes. Leopold cut liverslices. As said before he ate with relish²⁰⁴ the inner organs, nutty gizzards, fried cods²⁰⁵' roes²⁰⁶ while Richie Goulding, Collis, Ward ate steak and kidney, steak then kidney, bite by bite of pie he ate Bloom ate they ate.

Bloom with Goulding, married in silence, ate. Dinners fit for princes.

By Bachelor's walk jogjaunty jingled²⁰⁷ Blazes Boylan, bachelor, in sun, in heat, mare²⁰⁸'s glossy⁸³ rump atrot, with flick²¹⁰ of whip, on bounding tyres: sprawled, warmseated, Boylan impatience, ardentbold. Horn. Have you the? Horn. Have you the? Haw haw horn.

Over their voices Dollard bassooned attack, booming over bombarding chords:

-- When love absorbs my ardent²¹¹ soul...

Roll of Bensoulbenjamin rolled to the quivery loveshivery roof-panes.

-- War! War! cried Father Cowley. You're the warrior²¹².

-- So I am, Ben Warrior laughed. I was thinking of your landlord. Love or money.

He stopped. He wagged huge beard, huge face over his blunder huge.

-- Sure, you'd burst the tympanum of her ear, man, Mr Dedalus said through smoke aroma²¹³, with an organ like yours.

In bearded abundant laughter Dollard shook upon the keyboard. He would.

-- Not to mention another membrane²¹⁴, Father Cowley added. Half time, Ben. Amoroso ma non troppo. Let me there.

Miss Kennedy served two gentlemen with tankards of cool stout²¹⁵. She passed a remark. It was indeed, first gentleman said, beautiful weather. They drank cool stout. Did she know where the lord lieutenant²¹⁶ was going? And heard steelhoofs ringhoof ring. No, she couldn't say. But it would be in the paper. O, she needn't trouble. No trouble. She waved about her outspread Independent, searching, the lord lieutenant, her pinnacles of hair slowmoving, lord lieuten. Too much trouble, first gentleman said. O, not in the least. Way he looked that. Lord lieutenant. Gold by bronze heard iron steel.

-- ... my ardent soul

I care not foror the morrow.

In liver gravy²¹⁷ Bloom mashed²¹⁸ mashed potatoes. Love and war someone is. Ben Dollard's famous. Night he ran round to us to borrow a dress suit for that concert. Trousers tight as a drum on him. Musical porkers. Molly did laugh when he went out. Threw herself back across the bed, screaming, kicking. With all his belongings²¹⁹ on show. O, saints above, I'm drenched²²⁰! O, the women in the front row! O, I never laughed so many! Well, of course, that's what gives him the base barreltone. For instance eunuchs. Wonder who's playing. Nice touch. Must be Cowley. Musical. Knows whatever note you play. Bad breath he has, poor chap. Stopped.

Miss Douce, engaging, Lydia Douce, bowed to suave²²¹ solicitor²²², George Lidwell, gentleman, entering. Good afternoon. She gave her moist, a lady's, hand to his firm clasp. Afternoon. Yes, she was back. To the old dingdong again.

-- Your friends are inside, Mr Lidwell.

George Lidwell, suave, solicited²²³, held a lydiahand.

Bloom ate liv as said before. Clean here at least. That chap in the Burton, gummy with gristle. No-one here: Goulding and I. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins. Pat to and fro, bald Pat. Nothing to do. Best value in Dub¹¹⁵.

Piano again. Cowley it is. Way he sits in to it, like one together, mutual²²⁴ understanding. Tiresome²²⁵ shapers scraping fiddles²²⁷, eye on the bowend, sawing the 'cello²²⁸, remind you of toothache. Her high long snore. Night we were in the box. Trombone under blowing like a grampus, between the acts, other brass²²⁹ chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. Conductor's legs too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy. Do right to hide them.

Jiggedy jingle jaunty jaunty.

Only the harp¹³⁸. Lovely gold glowering²³¹ light. Girl touched it. Poop of a lovely. Gravy's rather good fit for a. Golden ship. Erin. The harp that once or twice. Cool hands. Ben Howth, the rhododendrons. We are their harps¹³⁹. I. He. Old. Young.

-- Ah, I couldn't, man, Mr Dedalus said, shy, listless.

Strongly.

-- Go on, blast you, Ben Dollard growled²³³. Get it out in bits

-- M'appari, Simon, Father Cowley said.

Down stage he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his long arms outheld. Hoarsely²³⁵ the apple of his throat hoarsed softly. Softly he sang to a dusty seascape there: A Last Farewell. A headland, a ship, a sail upon the billows. Farewell. A lovely girl, her veil awave upon the wind upon the headland, wind around her.

Cowley sang:

-- M'appari tutt amor;

Il mio sguardo l'incontr...

She waved, unhearing Cowley, her veil to one departing, dear one, to wind, love, speeding sail, return.

-- Go on, Simon.

-- Ah, sure my dancing days are done, Ben... Well...

Mr Dedalus laid his pipe to rest beside the tuningfork and, sitting, touched the obedient keys.

-- No, Simon, Father Cowley turned. Play it in the original One flat.

The keys, obedient, rose higher, told, faltered²³⁶, confessed, confused.

Up stage strode Father Cowley.

-- Here, Simon. I'll accompany you, he said. Get up.

By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, by Elvery's elephant jingle jogged. Steak, kidney, liver, mashed at meat fit for princes sat princes Bloom and Goulding. Princes at meat they raised and drank Power and cider.

Most beautiful tenor²³⁷ air ever written, Richie said: Sonnambula. He heard Joe Maas sing that one night. Ah, that M'Guckin! Yes. In his way. Choirboy style. Maas was the boy. Massboy. A lyrical tenor if you like. Never forget it. Never.

Tenderly Bloom over liverless bacon saw the tightened²³⁸ features strain. Backache he. Bright's bright eye. Next item on the programme. Paying the piper. Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box. Stave it off awhile. Sings too: Down among the dead men. Appropriate. Kidney pie. Sweets to the. Not-making much hand of it. Best value in. Characteristic of him. Power. Particular about his drink. Flaw in the glass, fresh Vartry water. Fecking matches from counters to save. Then squander²³⁹ a sovereign in dribs and drabs. And when he's wanted not a farthing. Screwed refusing to pay his fare. Curious types.

Never would Richie forget that night. As long as he lived, never. In the gods of the old Royal with little Peake. And when the first note.

Speech paused on Richie's lips.

Coming out with a whopper now. Rhapsodies about damn all. Believes his own lies. Does really. Wonderful liar²⁴⁰. But want a good memory.

-- Which air is that? asked Leopold Bloom.

-- All is lost now...

Richie cocked his lips apout. A low incipient²⁴¹ note sweet banshee murmured all. A thrush. A throstle. His breath, birdsweet, good teeth he's proud of, fluted with plaintive²⁴³ woe. Is lost. Rich sound. Two notes in one there. Blackbird I heard in the hawthorn²⁴⁴ valley. Taking my motives²⁴⁵ he twined and turned them. All most too new call is lost in all. Echo. How sweet the answer. How is that done? All lost now. Mournful he whistled. Fall, surrender, lost.

Bloom bent leopold ear, turning a fringe of doyley down under the vase. Order. Yes, I remember. Lovely air. In sleep she went to him. Innocence in the moon. Still hold her back. Brave, don't know their danger. Call name. Touch water. Jingle jaunty. Too late. She longed to go. That's why. Woman. As easy stop the sea. Yes: all is lost.

-- A beautiful air, said Bloom lost Leopold. I know it well.

Never in all his life had Richie Goulding.

He knows it well too. Or he feels. Still harping²⁴⁶ on his daughter. Wise child that knows her father, Dedalus said. Me?

Bloom askance over liverless saw. Face of the all is lost. Rollicking Richie once. Jokes old stale now. Wagging his ear. Napkinring in his eye. Now begging letters he sends his son with. Crosseyed Walter sir I did sir. Wouldn't trouble only I was expecting some money. Apologise.

Piano again. Sounds better than last time I heard. Tuned²⁴⁷ probably. Stopped again.

Dollard and Cowley still urged the lingering singer out with it.

-- With it, Simon.

-- It, Simon.

-- Ladies and gentlemen, I am most deeply obliged by your kind solicitations.

-- It, Simon.

-- I have no money but if you will lend me your attention I shall endeavour to sing to you of a heart bowed down.

By the sandwichbell in screening shadow, Lydia her bronze and rose, a lady's grace, gave and withheld²⁴⁸: as in cool glaucous eau de Nil Mina to tankards two her pinnacles of gold.

The harping chords of prelude²⁴⁹ closed. A chord longdrawn, expectant drew a voice away.

-- When first I saw that form endearing.

Richie turned.

-- Si Dedalus' voice, he said.

Braintipped, cheek touched with flame, they listened feeling that flow endearing flow over skin limbs human heart soul spine²⁵⁰. Bloom signed to Pat, bald Pat is a waiter hard of hearing, to set ajar the door of the bar. The door of the bar. So. That will do. Pat, waiter, waited, waiting to hear, for he was hard of hear by the door.

-- Sorrow from me seemed to depart.

Through the hush²⁵¹ of air a voice sang to them, low, not rain, not leaves in murmur²⁴², like no voice of strings²⁵² of reeds or what doyoucallthem dulcimers, touching²⁵³ their still ears with words, still hearts of their each his remembered lives. Good, good to hear: sorrow from them each seemed to from both depart when first they heard. When first they saw, lost Richie, Poldy, mercy of beauty, heard from a person wouldn't expect it in the least, her first merciful lovesoft oftloved word.

Love that is singing: love's old sweet song. Bloom unwound slowly the elastic band of his packet. Love's old sweet sonnez la gold. Bloom wound a skein round four forkfingers, stretched it, relaxed, and wound it round his troubled double, fourfold, in octave, gyved them fast.

-- Full of hope and all delighted...

Tenors²⁵⁴ get women by the score. Increase their flow. Throw flower at his feet when will we meet? My head it simply. Jingle all delighted. He can't sing for tall hats. Your head it simply swurls. Perfumed for him. What perfume does your wife? I want to know. Jing. Stop. Knock. Last look at mirror always before she answers the door. The hall. There? How do you? I do well. There? What? Or? Phila of cachous, kissing comfits, in her satchel²⁵⁵. Yes? Hands felt for the opulent.

Alas! The voice rose, sighing, changed: loud, full, shining, proud.

-- But alas, 'twas idle dreaming...

Glorious tone he has still. Cork¹³⁷ air softer also their brogue. Silly man! Could have made oceans of money. Singing wrong words. Wore out his wife: now sings. But hard to tell. Only the two themselves. If he doesn't break down. Keep a trot²⁰⁹ for the avenue. His hands and feet sing too. Drink. Nerves overstrung. Must be abstemious²⁵⁶ to sing. Jenny Lind soup: stock, sage¹⁹⁴, raw eggs, half pint²⁵⁷ of cream. For creamy dreamy.

Tenderness it welled: slow, swelling²⁵⁸. Full it throbbed. That's the chat. Ha, give! Take! Throb, a throb, a pulsing proud erect²⁵⁹.

Words? Music? No: it's what's behind.

Bloom looped, unlooped, noded, disnoded.

Bloom. Flood of warm jimjam lickitup secretness flowed to flow in music out, in desire, dark to lick flow, invading. Tipping her tepping her tapping her topping her. Tup. Pores to dilate²⁶⁰ dilating²⁶¹. Tup. The joy the feel the warm the. Tup. To pour o'er sluices²⁶² pouring gushes²⁶⁴. Flood, gush²⁶³, flow, joygush, tupthrop. Now! Language of love.

-- ... ray of hope...

Beaming. Lydia for Lidwell squeak²⁶⁵ scarcely hear so ladylike the muse unsqueaked a ray of hope.

Martha it is. Coincidence. Just going to write. Lionel's song. Lovely name you have. Can't write. Accept my little pres. Play on her heartstrings pursestrings too. She's a. I called you naughty boy. Still the name: Martha. How strange! Today.

The voice of Lionel returned, weaker but unwearied. It sang again to Richie Poldy Lydia Lidwell also sang to Pat open mouth ear waiting, to wait. How first he saw that form endearing, how sorrow seemed to part, how look, form, word charmed him Gould Lidwell, won Pat Bloom's heart.

Wish I could see his face, though. Explain better. Why the barber in Drago's always looked my face when I spoke his face in the glass. Still hear it better here than in the bar though farther.

-- Each graceful²⁶⁶ look...

First night when first I saw her at Mat Dillon's in Terenure. Yellow, black lace she wore. Musical chairs. We two the last. Fate. After her. Fate. Round and round slow. Quick round. We two. All looked. Halt. Down she sat. All ousted²⁶⁷ looked. Lips laughing. Yellow knees.

-- Charmed my eye...

Singing. Waiting she sang. I turned her music. Full voice of perfume of what perfume does your lilactrees. Bosom I saw, both full, throat warbling. First I saw. She thanked me. Why did she me? Fate. Spanishy eyes. Under a peartree alone patio²⁶⁸ this hour in old Madrid one side in shadow Dolores shedolores. At me. Luring¹⁸. Ah, alluring.

-- Martha! Ah, Martha!

Quitting all languor²⁶⁹ Lionel cried in grief, in cry of passion dominant²⁷⁰ to love to return with deepening yet with rising chords of harmony. In cry of lionel loneliness that she should know, must Martha feel. For only her he waited. Where? Here there try there here all try where. Somewhere.

-- Co-me, thou lost one!

Co-me thou dear one!

Alone. One love. One hope. One comfort me. Martha, chest note, return.

-- Come!

It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure cry, soar silver orb¹¹ it leaped serene²⁷¹, speeding, sustained, to come, don't spin it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the effulgence²⁷² symbolistic, high, of the ethereal bosom, high, of the high vast irradiation everywhere all soaring all around about the all, the endlessnessnessness...

-- To me!

Siopold!

Consumed.

Come. Well sung. All clapped. She ought to. Come. To me, to him, to her, you too, me, us.

-- Bravo! Clapclap. Goodman, Simon. Clappyclapclap. Encore! Clapclipclap. Sound as a bell. Bravo, Simon! Clapclopclap. Encore, enclap, said, cried, clapped all, Ben Dollard, Lydia Douce, George Lidwell, Pat, Mina, two gentlemen with two tankards, Cowley, first gent with tank and bronze Miss Douce and gold Miss Mina.

Blazes Boylan's smart tan shoes creaked on the barfloor, said before. Jingle by monuments of sir John Gray, Horatio onehandled Nelson, reverend father Theobald Matthew, jaunted as said before just now. Atrot, in heat, heatseated. Cloche. Sonnez la. Cloche. Sonnez la. Slower the mare went up the hill by the Rotunda²⁷³, Rutland square. Too slow for Boylan, blazes Boylan, impatience Boylan, joggled the mare.

An afterclang of Cowley's chords closed, died on the air made richer.

And Richie Goulding drank his Power and Leopold Bloom his cider drank, Lidwell his Guinness, second gentleman said they would partake of two tankards if she did not mind. Miss Kennedy smirked¹⁶⁹, disserving, coral lips, at first, at second. She did not mind.

-- Seven days in jail, Ben Dollard said, on bread and water. Then you'd sing, Simon, like a garden thrush.

Lionel Simon, singer, laughed. Father Bob Cowley played. Mina Kennedy served. Second gentleman paid. Tom Kernan strutted²⁷⁴ in; Lydia, admired, admired. But Bloom sang dumb.

Admiring.

Richie, admiring, descanted on that man's glorious voice. He remembered one night long ago. Never forget that night. Si sang 'Twas rank and fame: in Ned Lambert's 'twas. Good God he never heard in all his life a note like that he never did then false one we had better part so clear so God he never heard since love lives not a clinking voice ask Lambert he can tell you too.

Goulding, a flush struggling in his pale, told Mr Bloom, face of the night, Si in Ned Lambert's, Dedalus' house, sang 'Twas rank and fame...

He, Mr Bloom, listened while he, Richie Goulding, told him, Mr Bloom of the night he, Richie, heard him, Si Dedalus, sing 'Twas rank and fame in his, Ned Lambert's house.

Brothers-in-law: relations. We never speak as we pass by. Rift²⁷⁵ in the lute¹⁴ I think. Treats him with scorn. See. He admires him all the more. The nights Si sang. The human voice, two tiny silky cords. Wonderful, more than all the others.

That voice was a lamentation²⁷⁶. Calmer now. It's in the silence you feel you hear. Vibrations²⁷⁷. Now silent air.

Bloom ungyved his crisscrossed hands and with slack fingers plucked the slender catgut thong²⁷⁹. He drew and plucked. It buzzed, it twanged. While Goulding talked of Barraclough's voice production, while Tom Kernan, harking back in a retrospective sort of arrangement, talked to listening Father Cowley who played a voluntary, who nodded as he played. While big Ben Dollard talked with Simon Dedalus lighting¹⁴², who nodded as he smoked, who smoked.

Thou lost one. All songs on that theme. Yet more Bloom stretched his string. Cruel it seems. Let people get fond of each other: lure them on. Then tear asunder²⁸⁰. Death. Explos. Knock on the head. Outtohelloutofthat. Human life. Dignam. Ugh, that rat's tail wriggling²⁸¹! Five bob I gave. Corpus paradisum. Corncrake croaker: belly²⁸³ like a poisoned pup. Gone. They sing. Forgotten. I too. And one day she with. Leave her: get tired. Suffer then. Snivel. Big Spanishy eyes goggling²⁸⁴ at nothing. Her wavyavyeavyheavyeavyevyevy hair un comb: 'd.

Yet too much happy bores. He stretched more, more. Are you not happy in your? Twang. It snapped.

Jingle into Dorset street.

Miss Douce withdrew her satiny arm, reproachful, pleased.

-- Don't make half so free, said she, till we are better acquainted.

George Lidwell told her really and truly: but she did not believe.

First gentleman told Mina that was so. She asked him was that so. And second tankard told her so. That that was so.

Miss Douce, Miss Lydia, did not believe: Miss Kennedy, Mina, did not believe: George Lidwell, no: Miss Dou did not: the first, the first: gent with the tank: believe, no, no: did not, Miss Kenn: Lidlydiawell: the tank.

Better write it here. Quills²⁸⁵ in the postoffice chewed and twisted.

Bald Pat at a sign drew nigh. A pen and ink. He went. A pad. He went. A pad to blot²⁸⁶. He heard, deaf Pat.

-- Yes, Mr Bloom said, teasing the curling catgut fine. It certainly is. Few lines will do. My present. All that Italian florid music is. Who is this wrote? Know the name you know better. Take out sheet notepaper, envelope: unconcerned. It's so characteristic.

-- Grandest number in the whole opera, Goulding said.

-- It is, Bloom said.

Numbers it is. All music when you come to think. Two multiplied by two divided by half is twice one. Vibrations: chords those are. One plus two plus six is seven. Do anything you like with figures juggling²⁸⁷. Always find out this equal to that, symmetry under a cemetery²⁸⁸ wall. He doesn't see my mourning. Callous²⁸⁹: all for his own gut²⁷⁸. Musemathematics. And you think you're listening to the ethereal. But suppose you said it like: Martha, seven times nine minus x is thirtyfive thousand. Fall quite flat. It's on account of the sounds it is.

Instance he's playing now. Improvising²⁹⁰. Might be what you like till you hear the words. Want to listen sharp. Hard. Begin all right: then hear chords a bit off: feel lost a bit. In and out of sacks over barrels, through wirefences, obstacle race. Time makes the tune¹¹⁹. Question of mood you're in. Still always nice to hear. Except scales up and down, girls learning. Two together nextdoor neighbours. Ought to invent dummy²⁹¹ pianos for that. Blumenlied I bought for her. The name. Playing it slow, a girl, night I came home, the girl. Door of the stables near Cecilia street. Milly no taste. Queer because we both I mean.

Bald deaf Pat brought quite flat pad ink. Pat set with ink pen quite flat pad. Pat took plate dish knife fork. Pat went.

It was the only language Mr Dedalus said to Ben. He heard them as a boy in Ringabella, Crosshaven, Ringabella, singing their barcaroles. Queenstown harbour full of Italian ships. Walking, you know, Ben, in the moonlight with those earthquake hats. Blending their voices. God, such music, Ben. Heard as a boy. Cross Ringabella haven²⁹² mooncarole.

Sour pipe removed he held a shield of hand beside his lips that cooed a moonlight nightcall, clear from anear, a call from afar, replying.

Down the edge of his Freeman baton ranged Bloom's your other eye, scanning for where did I see that. Callan, Coleman, Dignam Patrick. Heigho! Heigho! Fawcett. Aha! Just I was looking...

Hope he's not looking, cute as a rat. He held unfurled his Freeman. Can't see now. Remember write Greek ees. Bloom dipped, Bloo mur: dear sir. Dear Henry wrote: dear Mady. Got your lett and flow. Hell did I put? Some pock or oth. It is utterl imposs. Underline imposs. To write today.

Bore this. Bored Bloom tambourined gently with I am just reflecting fingers on flat pad Pat brought.

On. Know what I mean. No, change that ee. Accept my poor little pres enclos. Ask her no answ. Hold on. Five Dig. Two about here. Penny the gulls²⁹³. Elijah is com. Seven Davy Byrne's. Is eight about. Say half a crown. My poor little pres: p. o. two and six. Write me a long. Do you despise? Jingle, have you the? So excited. Why do you call me naught⁸⁹? You naughty too? O, Mairy lost the pin of her. Bye for today. Yes, yes, will tell you. Want to. To keep it up. Call me that other. Other world she wrote. My patience are exhaust. To keep it up. You must believe. Believe. The tank. It. Is. True.

Folly²⁹⁴ am I writing? Husbands don't. That's marriage does, their wives. Because I'm away from. Suppose. But how? She must. Keep young. If she found out. Card in my high grade ha. No, not tell all. Useless pain. If they don't see. Woman. Sauce for the gander.

A hackney car, number three hundred and twentyfour, driver Barton James of number one Harmony avenue, Donnybrook, on which sat a fare, a young gentleman, stylishly²⁹⁵ dressed in an indigoblue serge suit made by George Robert Mesias, tailor and cutter, of number five Eden quay, and wearing a straw hat very dressy, bought of John Plasto of number one Great Brunswick street, hatter. Eh? This is the jingle that joggled and jingled. By Dlugacz' porkshop bright tubes of Agendath trotted²⁹⁶ a gallantbuttocked mare.

-- Answering an ad? keen Richie's eyes asked Bloom.

-- Yes, Mr Bloom said. Town traveller. Nothing doing, I expect.

Bloom mur: best references. But Henry wrote: it will excite me. You know now. In haste. Henry. Greek ee. Better add postscript²⁹⁸. What is he playing now? Improvising intermezzo. P. S. The rum tum tum. How will you pun? You punish me? Crooked skirt swinging, whack²⁹⁹ by. Tell me I want to. Know. O. Course if I didn't I wouldn't ask. La la la ree. Trails off there sad in minor³⁰⁰. Why minor sad? Sign H. They like sad tail at end. P. P. S. La la la ree. I feel so sad today. La ree. So lonely. Dee.

He blotted³⁰¹ quick on pad of Pat. Envel. Address. Just copy out of paper. Murmured: Messrs Callan, Coleman and Co, limited. Henry wrote:

Miss Martha Clifford
c/o P. O.
Dolphin's barn lane
Dublin.
Blot over the other so he can't read. Right. Idea prize titbit. Something detective read off blottingpad. Payment at the rate of guinea per col. Matcham often thinks the laughing witch. Poor Mrs Purefoy. U. p.: up.
Too poetical³⁰² that about the sad. Music did that. Music hath charms Shakespeare said. Quotations³⁰³ every day in the year. To be or not to be. Wisdom while you wait.

In Gerard's rosery of Fetter³⁰⁴ lane he walks, greyed-auburn. One life is all. One body. Do. But do.

Done anyhow. Postal³⁰⁵ order stamp. Postoffice lower down. Walk now. Enough. Barney Kiernan's I promised to meet them. Dislike that job. House of mourning. Walk. Pat! Doesn't hear. Deaf beetle³⁰⁶ he is.

Car near there now. Talk. Talk. Pat! Doesn't. Settling those napkins. Lot of ground he must cover in the day. Paint face behind on him then he'd be two. Wish they'd sing more. Keep my mind off.

Bald Pat who is bothered mitred the napkins. Pat is a waiter hard of his hearing. Pat is a waiter who waits while you wait. Hee hee hee hee. He waits while you wait. Hee hee. A waiter is he. Hee hee hee hee. He waits while you wait. While you wait if you wait he will wait while you wait. Hee hee hee hee. Hoh. Wait while you wait.

Douce now. Douce Lydia. Bronze and rose.

She had a gorgeous, simply gorgeous, time. And look at the lovely shell she brought.

To the end of the bar to him she bore lightly the spiked and winding seahorn that he, George Lidwell, solicitor, might hear.

-- Listen! she bade him.

Under Tom Kernan's ginhot words the accompanist wove music slow. Authentic³⁰⁷ fact. How Walter Bapty lost his voice. Well, sir, the husband took him by the throat. Scoundrel, said he. You'll sing no more lovesongs. He did, sir Tom. Bob Cowley wove. Tenors get wom. Cowley lay back.

Ah, now he heard, she holding it to his ear. Hear! He heard. Wonderful. She held it to her own and through the sifted³⁰⁸ light pale gold in contrast glided³⁰⁹. To hear.

Tap.

Bloom through the bardoor saw a shell held at their ears. He heard more faintly that that they heard, each for herself alone, then each for other, hearing the plash of waves, loudly, a silent roar.

Bronze by a weary gold, anear, afar, they listened.

Her ear too is a shell, the peeping lobe¹⁹⁰ there. Been to the seaside. Lovely seaside girls. Skin tanned raw. Should have put on coldcream first make it brown. Buttered toast. O and that lotion³¹⁰ mustn't forget. Fever near her mouth. Your head it simply. Hair braided over: shell with seaweed. Why do they hide their ears with seaweed hair? And Turks their mouth, why? Her eyes over the sheet, a yashmak. Find the way in. A cave. No admittance except on business.

The sea they think they hear. Singing. A roar. The blood is it. Souse in the ear sometimes. Well, it's a sea. Corpuscle islands.

Wonderful really. So distinct. Again. George Lidwell held its murmur, hearing: then laid it by, gently.

-- What are the wild waves saying? he asked her, smiled.

Charming, seasmiling and unanswering Lydia on Lidwell smiled.

Tap.

By Larry O'Rourke's, by Larry, bold Larry O', Boylan swayed and Boylan turned.

From the forsaken³¹¹ shell Miss Mina glided to her tankard waiting. No, she was not so lonely archly Miss Douce's head let Mr Lidwell know. Walks in the moonlight by the sea. No, not alone. With whom? She nobly answered: with a gentleman friend.

Bob Cowley's twinkling fingers in the treble played again. The landlord has the prior. A little time. Long John. Big Ben Lightly he played a light bright tinkling³¹² measure for tripping ladies, arch and smiling, and for their gallants, gentlemen friends. One: one, one, one: two, one, three, four.

Sea, wind, leaves, thunder, waters, cows lowing, the cattle market, cocks, hens don't crow, snakes hissss. There's music everywhere. Ruttledge's door: ee creaking. No, that's noise. Minuet of Don Giovanni he's playing now. Court dresses of all descriptions in castle chambers³¹⁴ dancing. Misery³¹⁵. Peasants outside. Green starving faces eating dockleaves. Nice that is. Look: look, look, look, look, look: you look at us.

That's joyful³¹⁶ I can feel. Never have written it. Why? My joy is other joy. But both are joys. Yes, joy it must be. Mere⁵⁰ fact of music shows you are. Often thought she was in the dumps till she began to lilt. Then know.

M'Coy valise. My wife and your wife. Squealing³¹⁷ eat. Like tearing silk. When she talks like the clapper of a bellows³¹⁸. They can't manage men's intervals³¹⁹. Gap in their voices too. Fill me. I'm warm, dark, open. Molly in qui est homo: Mercadante. My ear against the wall to hear. Want a woman who can deliver the goods.

Jog jig²³⁰ jogged stopped. Dandy tan shoe of dandy Boy Ian socks skyblue clocks came light to earth.

O, look we are so! Chamber³¹³ music. Could make a kind of pun on that. It is a kind of music I often thought when she. Acoustics³²⁰ that is. Tinkling. Empty vessels³²¹ make most noise. Because the acoustics, the resonance³²² changes according as the weight of the water is equal to the law of falling water. Like those rhapsodies of Liszt's, Hungarian, gipsyeyed. Pearls. Drops. Rain. Diddle iddle addle³²³ addle oodle oodle. Hiss²¹. Now. Maybe now. Before.

One rapped on a door, one tapped with a knock, did he knock Paul de Kock, with a loud proud knocker, with a cock carracarracarra cock. Cockcock.

Tap.

-- Qui sdegno, Ben, said Father Cowley.

-- No, Ben, Tom Kernan interfered³²⁴, The Croppy Boy. Our native Doric.

-- Ay do, Ben, Mr Dedalus said. Good men and true.

-- Do, do, they begged in one.

I'll go. Here, Pat, return. Come. He came, he came, he did not stay. To me. How much?

-- What key? Six sharps?

-- F sharp major, Ben Dollard said.

Bob Cowley's outstretched talons³²⁵ gripped the black deep sounding chords.

Must go prince Bloom told Richie prince. No, Richie said. Yes, must. Got money somewhere. He's on for a razzle backache spree. Much? He seehears lipspeech. One and nine. Penny for yourself. Here. Give him twopence tip. Deaf, bothered. But perhaps he has wife and family waiting, waiting Patty come home. Hee hee hee hee. Deaf wait while they wait.

But wait. But hear. Chords dark. Lugugugubrious. Low. In a cave of the dark middle earth. Embedded ore. Lumpmusic.

The voice of dark age, of unlove, earth's fatigue³²⁶ made grave approach, and painful, come from afar, from hoary³²⁷ mountains, called on good men and true. The priest he sought, with him would he speak a word.

Tap.

Ben Dollard's voice barreltone. Doing his level best to say it. Croak²⁸² of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh³²⁸. Other comedown. Big ships' chandler's business he did once. Remember: rosiny ropes, ships' lanterns. Failed to the tune of ten thousand pounds. Now in the Iveagh home. Cubicle³²⁹ number so and so. Number one Bass did that for him.

The priest's at home. A false priest's servant bade him welcome. Step in. The holy father. Curlycues of chords.

Ruin them. Wreck³³⁰ their lives. Then build them cubicles³³¹ to end their days in. Hushaby. Lullaby. Die, dog. Little dog, die.

The voice of warning, solemn warning, told them the youth had entered a lonely hall, told them how solemn fell his footstep there, told them the gloomy chamber, the vested priest sitting to shrive.

Decent soul. Bit addled³³² now. Thinks he'll win in Answers poets' picture puzzle. We hand you crisp five pound note. Bird sitting hatching in a nest. Lay of the last minstrel he thought it was. See blank tee what domestic animal? Tee dash ar most courageous³³³ mariner³³⁴. Good voice he has still. No eunuch yet with all his belongings.

Listen. Bloom listened. Richie Goulding listened. And by the door deaf Pat, bald Pat, tipped Pat, listened.

The chords harped³³⁵ slower.

The voice of penance³³⁶ and of grief came slow, embellished³³⁷, tremulous. Ben's contrite³³⁸ beard confessed: in nomine Domini, in God's name. He knelt. He beat his hand upon his breast, confessing: mea culpa.

Latin again. That holds them like birdlime. Priest with the communion corpus for those women. Chap in the mortuary, coffin or coffey, corpusnomine. Wonder where that rat is by now. Scrape.

Tap.

They listened: tankards and Miss Kennedy, George Lidwell eyelid well expressive³³⁹, fullbusted satin, Kernan, Si.

The sighing voice of sorrow sang. His sins. Since easter he had cursed three 'times. You bitch's bast. And once at masstime he had gone to play. Once by the churchyard he had passed and for his mother's rest he had not prayed. A boy. A croppy boy.

Bronze, listening by the beerpull, gazed far away. Soulfully. Doesn't half know I'm. Molly great dab³⁴⁰ at seeing anyone looking.

Bronze gazed far sideways. Mirror there. Is that best side of her face? They always know. Knock at the door. Last tip to titivate.

Cockcarracarra.

What do they think when they hear music? Way to catch rattlesnakes. Night Michael Gunn gave us the box. Tuning up. Shah of Persia liked that best. Remind him of home sweet home. Wiped his nose in curtain too. Custom his country perhaps. That's music too. Not as bad as it sounds. Tootling. Brasses³⁴¹ braying³⁴² asses⁴⁸ through uptrunks. Doublebasses, helpless, gashes³⁴³ in their sides. Woodwinds mooing cows. Semigrand open crocodile music hath jaws³⁴⁴. Woodwind like Goodwin's name.

She looked fine. Her crocus dress she wore, lowcut, belongings on show. Clove³⁴⁵ her breath was always in theatre when she bent to ask a question. Told her what Spinoza says in that book of poor papa's. Hypnotised, listening. Eyes like that. She bent. Chap in dresscircle, staring down into her with his operaglass for all he was worth. Beauty of music you must hear twice. Nature woman half a look. God made the country man the tune. Met him pike hoses. Philosophy. O rocks!

All gone. All fallen. At the siege of Ross his father, at Gorey all his brothers fell. To Wexford, we are the boys of Wexford, he would. Last of his name and race.

I too, last my race. Milly young student. Well, my fault perhaps. No son. Rudy. Too late now. Or if not? If not? If still?

He bore no hate.

Hate. Love. Those are names. Rudy. Soon I am old.

Big Ben his voice unfolded. Great voice, Richie Goulding said, a flush struggling in his pale, to Bloom, soon old but when was young.

Ireland comes now. My country above the King. She listens. Who fears to speak of nineteen four? Time to be shoving. Looked enough.

-- Bless me, father, Dollard the croppy cried. Bless me and let me go.

Tap.

Bloom looked, unblessed to go. Got up to kill: on eighteen bob a week. Fellows shell out the dibs. Want to keep your weathereye open. Those girls, those lovely. By the sad sea waves. Chorusgirl's romance. Letters read out for breach³⁴⁶ of promise. From Chickabiddy's own Mumpsypum. Laughter in court. Henry. I never signed it. The lovely name you.

Low sank the music, air and words. Then hastened. The false priest rustling³⁴⁷ soldier from his cassock. A yeoman captain. They know it all by heart. The thrill they itch¹²² for. Yeoman cap.

Tap. Tap.

Thrilled, she listened, bending in sympathy to hear.

Blank face. Virgin⁷⁰ should say: or fingered only. Write something on it: page. If not what becomes of them? Decline, despair. Keeps them young. Even admire themselves. See. Play on her. Lip blow. Body of white woman, a flute¹² alive. Blow gentle. Loud. Three holes all women. Goddess I didn't see. They want it: not too much polite. That's why he gets them. Gold in your pocket, brass in your face. With look to look: songs without words. Molly that hurdygurdy boy. She knew he meant the monkey was sick. Or because so like the Spanish. Understand animals too that way. Solomon did. Gift of nature.

Ventriloquise. My lips closed. Think in my stom. What?

Will? You? I. Want. You. To.

With hoarse²³⁴ rude fury the yeoman cursed. Swelling in apoplectic³⁴⁸ bitch's bastard. A good thought, boy, to come. One hour's your time to live, your last.

Tap. Tap.

Thrill now. Pity they feel. To wipe away a tear for martyrs³⁴⁹. For all things dying, want to, dying to, die. For that all things born. Poor Mrs Purefoy. Hope she's over. Because their wombs.

A liquid of womb of woman eyeball gazed under a fence of lashes³⁵⁰, calmly, hearing. See real beauty of the eye when she not speaks. On yonder river. At each slow satiny heaving bosom's wave (her heaving embon) red rose rose slowly, sank red rose. Heartbeats her breath: breath that is life. And all the tiny tiny fernfoils trembled of maidenhair.

But look. The bright stars fade. O rose! Castille. The morn. Ha. Lidwell. For him then not for. Infatuated. I like that? See her from here though. Popped corks³⁵¹, splashes of beerfroth, stacks of empties.

On the smooth jutting³⁵² beerpull laid Lydia hand lightly, plumply, leave it to my hands. All lost in pity for croppy. Fro, to: to, fro: over the polished knob (she knows his eyes, my eyes, her eyes) her thumb and finger passed in pity: passed, repassed and, gently touching, then slid so smoothly³⁵³, slowly down, a cool firm white enamel³⁵⁴ baton protruding through their sliding ring.

With a cock with a carra.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I hold this house. Amen. He gnashed in fury. Traitors³⁵⁵ swing.

The chords consented. Very sad thing. But had to be.

Get out before the end. Thanks, that was heavenly. Where's my hat. Pass by her. Can leave that Freeman. Letter I have. Suppose she were the? No. Walk, walk, walk. Like Cashel Boylo Connoro Coylo Tisdall Maurice Tisntdall Farrell, Waaaaaaalk.

Well, I must be. Are you off? Yrfmstbyes. Blmstup. O'er ryehigh blue. Bloom stood up. Ow. Soap feeling rather sticky behind. Must have sweated: music. That lotion, remember. Well, so long. High grade. Card inside, yes.

By deaf Pat in the doorway, straining ear, Bloom passed.

At Geneva barrack that young man died. At Passage was his body laid. Dolor! O, he dolores! The voice of the mournful chanter called to dolorous³⁵⁶ prayer.

By rose, by satiny bosom, by the fondling hand, by slops, by empties, by popped corks, greeting in going, past eyes and maidenhair, bronze and faint gold in deepseashadow, went Bloom, soft Bloom, I feel so lonely Bloom.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Pray for him, prayed the bass of Dollard. You who hear in peace. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear, good men, good people. He was the croppy boy.

Scaring eavesdropping³⁵⁷ boots croppy bootsboy Bloom in the Ormond hallway heard growls³⁵⁸ and roars of bravo, fat back-slapping, their boots all treading, boots not the boots the boy. General chorus off for a swill³⁵⁹ to wash it down. Glad I avoided.

-- Come on, Ben, Simon Dedalus said. By God, you're as good as ever you were.

-- Better, said Tomgin Kernan. Most trenchant³⁶⁰ rendition of that ballad³⁶¹, upon my soul and honour it is.

-- Lablache, said Father Cowley.

Ben Dollard bulkily cachuchad towards the bar, mightily³⁶² praisefed and all big roseate, on heavyfooted feet, his gouty fingers nakkering castagnettes in the air.

Big Benaden Dollard. Big Benben. Big Benben.

Rrr.

And deepmoved all, Simon trumping³⁶³ compassion³⁶⁴ from foghorn³⁶⁵ nose, all laughing, they brought him forth, Ben Dollard, in right good cheer.

-- You're looking rubicund³⁶⁶, George Lidwell said.

Miss Douce composed her rose to wait.

-- Ben machree, said Mr Dedalus, clapping Ben's fat back shoulderblade. Fit as a fiddle²²⁶, only he has a lot of adipose³⁶⁷ tissue concealed³⁶⁸ about his person.

Rrrrrrsss.

-- Fat of death, Simon, Ben Dollard growled.

Richie rift in the lute alone sat: Goulding, Collis, Ward. Uncertainly he waited. Unpaid³⁶⁹ Pat too.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Miss Mina Kennedy brought near her lips to ear of tankardone.

-- Mr Dollard, they murmured low.

-- Dollard, murmured tankard.

Tank one believed: Miss Kenn when she: that doll he was: she doll: the tank.

He murmured that he knew the name. The name was familiar to him, that is to say. That was to say he had heard the name of Dollard, was it? Dollard, yes.

Yes, her lips said more loudly, Mr Dollard. He sang that song lovely, murmured Mina. And The last rose of summer was a lovely song. Mina loved that song. Tankard loved the song that Mina.

'Tis the last rose of summer Dollard left Bloom felt wind wound round inside.

Gassy thing that cider: binding³⁷⁰ too. Wait. Postoffice near Reuben J's one and eightpence too. Get shut of it. Dodge³⁷¹ round by Greek street. Wish I hadn't promised to meet. Freer in air. Music. Gets on your nerves. Beerpull. Her hand that rocks the cradle rules the. Ben Howth. That rules the world.

Far. Far. Far. Far.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Up the quay went Lionelleopold, naughty Henry with letter for Mady, with sweets of sin with frillies for Raoul with met him pike hoses went Poldy on.

Tap blind walked tapping by the tap the curbstone tapping, tap by tap.

Cowley, he stunts³⁷² himself with it; kind of drunkenness. Better give way only half way the way of a man with a maid. Instance enthusiasts³⁷³. All ears. Not lose a demisemiquaver. Eyes shut. Head nodding in time. Dotty. You daren't budge³⁷⁴. Thinking strictly³⁷⁵ prohibited. Always talking shop. Fiddlefaddle about notes.

All a kind of attempt to talk. Unpleasant when it stops because you never know exac. Organ in Gardiner street. Old Glynn fifty quid a year. Queer up there in the cockloft alone with stops and locks and keys. Seated all day at the organ. Maunder on for hours, talking to himself or the other fellow blowing the bellows. Growl²³² angry, then shriek cursing (want to have wadding or something in his no don't she cried), then all of a soft sudden wee little wee little pippy wind.

Pwee! A wee little wind piped eeee. In Bloom's little wee.

Was he? Mr Dedalus said, returning, with fetched pipe. I was with him this morning at poor little Paddy Dignam's...

-- Ay, the Lord have mercy on him.

-- By the by there's a tuningfork in there on the...

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

-- The wife has a fine voice. Or had. What? Lidwell asked.

-- O, that must be the tuner, Lydia said to Simonlionel first I saw, forgot it when he was here.

Blind he was she told George Lidwell second I saw. And played so exquisitely³⁷⁶, treat to hear. Exquisite contrast: bronzelid minagold.

-- Shout! Ben Dollard shouted, pouring. Sing out!

-- 'lldo! cried Father Cowley.

Rrrrrr.

I feel I want...

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

-- Very, Mr Dedalus said, staring hard at a headless sardine³⁷⁷.

Under the sandwichbell lay on a bier of bread one last, one lonely, last sardine of summer. Bloom alone.

-- Very, he stared. The lower register, for choice.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Bloom went by Barry's. Wish I could. Wait. That wonderworker if I had. Twentyfour solicitors³⁷⁸ in that one house. Litigation. Love one another. Piles of parchment. Messrs Pick and Pocket have power of attorney. Goulding, Collis, Ward.

But for example the chap that wallops the big drum. His vocation³⁷⁹: Micky Rooney's band. Wonder how it first struck him. Sitting at home after pig's cheek and cabbage nursing it in the armchair. Rehearsing his band part. Pom. Pompedy. Jolly for the wife. Asses' skins. Welt them through life, then wallop after death. Pom. Wallop. Seems to be what you call yashmak or I mean kismet. Fate.

Tap. Tap. A stripling, blind, with a tapping cane³⁸⁰, came taptaptapping by Daly's window where a mermaid, hair all streaming (but he couldn't see), blew whiffs of a mermaid (blind couldn't), mermaid coolest whiff of all.

Instruments. A blade of grass, shell of her hands, then blow. Even comb and tissuepaper you can knock a tune out of. Molly in her shift in Lombard street west, hair down. I suppose each kind of trade made its own, don't you see? Hunter with a horn. Haw. Have you the? Cloche. Sonnez la! Shepherd his pipe. Policeman a whistle. Locks and keys! Sweep! Four o'clock's all's well! Sleep! All is lost now. Drum? Pompedy. Wait, I know. Towncrier, bumbailiff. Long John. Waken the dead. Pom. Dignam. Poor little nominedomine. Pom. It is music, I mean of course it's all pom pom pom very much what they call da capo. Still you can hear. As we march we march along, march along. Pom.

I must really. Fff. Now if I did that at a banquet. Just a question of custom shah of Persia. Breathe a prayer, drop a tear. All the same he must have been a bit of a natural not to see it was a yeoman cap. Muffled up. Wonder who was that chap at the grave in the brown mackin. O, the whore of the lane!

A frowsy whore with black straw sailor hat askew³⁸¹ came glazily in the day along the quay towards Mr Bloom. When first he saw that form endearing. Yes, it is. I feel so lonely. Wet night in the lane. Horn. Who had the? Heehaw. Shesaw. Off her beat here. What is she? Hope she. Psst! Any chance of your wash. Knew Molly. Had me decked. Stout lady does be with you in the brown costume. Put you off your stroke. That appointment we made. Knowing we'd never, well hardly ever. Too dear too near to home sweet home. Sees me, does she? Looks a fright in the day. Face like dip. Damn her! O, well, she has to live like the rest. Look in here.

In Lionel Marks's antique saleshop window haughty Henry Lionel Leopold dear Henry Flower earnestly Mr Leopold Bloom envisaged³⁸² candlestick melodeon oozing³⁸³ maggoty blowbags. Bargain: six bob. Might learn to play. Cheap. Let her pass. Course everything is dear if you don't want it. That's what good salesman is. Make you buy what he wants to sell. Chap sold me the Swedish razor he shaved me with. Wanted to charge me for the edge he gave it. She's passing now. Six bob.

Must be the cider or perhaps the burgund.

Near bronze from anear near gold from afar they chinked their clinking glasses all, brighteyed and gallant²⁹⁷, before bronze Lydia's tempting last rose of summer, rose of Castille. First Lid, De, Cow, Ker, Doll, a fifth: Lidwell, Si Dedalus, Bob Cowley, Kernan and Big Ben Dollard.

Tap. A youth entered a lonely Ormond hall.

Bloom viewed a gallant pictured hero in Lionel Marks's window. Robert Emmet's last words. Seven last words. Of Meyerbeer that is.

-- True men like you men.

-- Ay, ay, Ben.

-- Will lift your glass with us.

They lifted.

Tschink. Tschunk.

Tip. An unseeing stripling stood in the door. He saw not bronze. He saw not gold. Nor Ben nor Bob nor Tom nor Si nor George nor tanks nor Richie nor Pat. Hee hee hee hee. He did not see.

Seabloom, greaseabloom viewed last words. Softly. When my country takes her place among.

Prrprr.

Must be the bur.

Fff. Oo. Rrpr.

Nations of the earth. No-one behind. She's passed. Then and not till then. Tram. Kran, kran, kran. Good oppor. Coming. Krandlkrankran. I'm sure it's the burgund. Yes. One, two. Let my epitaph be. Karaaaaaaa. Written. I have.

Pprrpffrrppfff.

Done.

褐色挨着金色[1]，听见了蹄铁声，钢铁零零响。

粗噜噜、噜噜噜[2]。

碎屑，从坚硬的大拇指甲上削下碎屑，碎屑。

讨厌鬼！金色越发涨红了脸。

横笛吹奏出的沙哑音调。

吹奏。花儿蓝。

挽成高髻的金发上。

裹在缎衫里的酥胸上，一朵起伏着的玫瑰，卡斯蒂利亚的玫瑰。

颤悠悠，颤悠悠：艾多洛勒斯[3]。

闷儿！谁在那个角落……瞥见了一抹金色?

与怀着怜悯的褐色相配合，丁零一声响了[4]。

清纯、悠长的颤音。好久才息的呼声。

诱惑。温柔的话语。可是，看啊！灿烂的星辰褪了色[5]。

啊，玫瑰！婉转奏出酬答的旋律。卡斯蒂利亚。即将破晓。

辚辚，轻快三轮马车辚辚。

硬币哐啷啷。时钟嗒嗒嗒。

表明心迹。敲响。我舍不得……袜带弹回来的响声……离开你。啪！那口钟[6]！在大腿上啪的一下。表明心迹。温存的。心上人，再见！

辚辚。布卢。

嗡嗡响彻的和弦。爱得神魂颠倒的时候。战争！战争！耳膜。

帆船！面纱随着波涛起伏。

失去。画眉清脆地啭鸣。现在一切都失去啦[7]。

犄角。呜--号角。

当他初见。哎呀！

情欲亢奋。心里怦怦直跳。

颤音歌唱。啊，诱惑！令人陶醉的。

玛尔塔！归来吧！[8]

叽叽喳喳，叽叽咕咕，叽哩喳喇。

天哪，他平生从没听到过。

又耳聋又秃头的帕特送来吸墨纸，拿起刀子。

月夜的呼唤：遥远地，遥远地。

我感到那么悲伤。附言：那么无比地孤寂。

听啊！

冰凉的，尖而弯曲的海螺。你有没有?独个儿地，接着又相互之间，波浪的迸溅和沉默的海啸。

一颗颗珍珠。当她。奏起李斯特的狂想曲[9]。嘘嘘嘘。

你不至于吧?

不曾，不、不、相信。莉迪利德。[10]喀呵，咔啦。[11]

黑色的。

深逐的声音。唱吧，本，唱吧。

侍奉的时候就侍奉吧。嘻嘻。嘻嘻笑着侍奉吧。

可是，且慢！

深深地在地底下黑暗处。埋着的矿砂。

因主之名。[12]全都完啦，全都倒下啦。[13]

她的处女发[14]。那颤巍巍的纤叶。

啊们！他气得咬牙切齿。

比方。彼方，此方。一根冰冷的棍子伸了出来。

褐发莉迪亚挨着金发米娜。

挨着褐色，挨着金色，在海绿色荫影下。布卢姆。老布卢姆。

有人笃笃敲，有人砰砰拍，咔啦，喀呵。

为他祷告吧！祷告吧，善良的人们！

他那患痛风症的手指头发出击响板般的声音[15]。

大本钟本。大本本[16]。 夏日最后一朵卡斯蒂利亚的玫瑰撇下了布卢姆，我孤零零地感到悲哀[17]。

嘘！微风发出笛子般的声音：嘘！

地道的男子汉。利德·克·考·迪和多拉。哎，哎。

就像诸位那样。咱们一道举杯哧沁喀、哧冲喀吧[18]。

呋呋呋！噢！

褐色从近处到什么地方?金色从近处到什么地方?蹄在什么地方?

噜噗噜。喀啦啦。喀啦得儿。

直到那时，只有到了那时，方为我写下墓志铭。

完了[19]。

开始[20]！

褐色挨着金色，杜丝小姐的头挨着肯尼迪小姐的头。在奥蒙德酒吧的半截儿窗帘上端听见了总督车队奔驰而过，马蹄发出锒锒的钢铁声。

“那是她吗?”肯尼迪小姐问。

杜丝小姐说是啊，和大人并肩坐着，发灰的珍珠色和一片淡绿蓝色[21]。

“绝妙的对照，”肯尼迪小姐说。

这当儿，兴奋极了的杜丝小姐热切地说：

“瞧那个戴大礼帽的家伙[22]。”

“谁?哪儿呀?”金色更加热切地问。

“第二辆马车里，”杜丝小姐欣喜地沐浴着阳光，用湿润的嘴唇说，“他朝四下里望着哪。等一下，容我过去看看。”

她，褐色，一个箭步就蹿到最后边的角落去，急匆匆地哈上一圈儿气，将脸庞紧贴在窗玻璃上。

她那湿润的嘴唇嗤嗤地笑着说：

“他死命地往回瞧哩。”

她朗笑道：

“哎，天哪！男人都是些可怕的傻瓜，你说呢?”

怀着悲戚之情。

肯尼迪小姐悲戚地从明亮的光线底下慢慢腾腾地踱了回来，边捻着散在耳后的一缕乱发。她悲戚地边溜达边连捋带捻着那已不再在太阳下闪着金光的头发。她就这样一面溜达着一面悲戚地把金发捻到曲形的耳后。

“他们可开心啦，”于是她黯然神伤地说。

一个男人。

布卢某怀着偷情的快乐[23]，从牟兰那家店的烟斗旁走过;心中索绕着偷情时的甜言蜜语，走边瓦恩那家店的古董;又为了拉乌尔，从卡洛尔宝石店里那磨损并且发乌了的镀金器皿前面踱过。

擦鞋侍役[24]到她们--酒吧里的她们，酒吧女侍--这儿来了。她们不曾理睬他。于是，他便替她们把那一托盘咯嗒咯嗒响的瓷器嘭的一声撂在柜台上，并且说：

“这是给你们的茶。”

肯尼迪小姐扭扭捏捏地把茶盘低低地挪到人们看不见的低处

--放在一只底朝天的柳条筐上，那原是装成瓶的矿泉水用的。

“什么事?”大嗓门的擦鞋侍役粗鲁地问。

“你猜猜看，”杜丝小姐边离开她那侦察点，边回答说。

“是你的意中人，对吧?”

傲慢的褐色回答说：

“我要是再听到你这么粗鲁地侮辱人，我就向德·梅西太太告你的状。”

“粗鲁鲁、噜噜噜，”擦鞋侍役对她这番恐吓粗野地嗤之以鼻，然后沿着原路走回去。

开花[25]。

杜丝小姐朝自己的花皱了皱眉，说：

“那个小子太放肆啦。他要是不放规矩些，我就把他的耳朵扯到一码长。”

一副淑女派头，鲜明的对照。

“理他呢，”?肯尼迪小姐回答说。

她斟了一杯茶，又把茶倒回壶里。她们蜷缩在暗礁般的柜台后面，坐在底朝天的柳条筐上，等待茶泡出味道来。她们各自摆弄着身上的衬衫，那都是黑缎子做的：一件是两先令九便士一码，另一件是两先令七便士一码的。就这样等着茶泡出味儿来。

是啊，褐色从近处，金色从远处听见了。听见了近处钢铁的铿锵，远处的蹄得得。听见了蹄铁铿锵，嚓嚓嗒嗒。

“我晒得厉害吗?”

褐色小姐解开衬衫钮扣，露出脖颈。

“没有，”肯尼迪小姐说，“以后会变成褐色。你试没试过兑上硼砂的樱桃月桂水?”

杜丝小姐欠起身来，在酒吧间的镜子里斜眼照了照自己的皮肤;镜子里盛有白葡萄酒和红葡萄酒的玻璃杯闪闪发光，中间还摆着一只海螺壳。

“连我的手都晒黑了，”她说。

“擦点甘油试试看，”肯尼迪小姐出了个点子。

杜丝小姐同自己的脖子和手告了别，回答说：

“那些玩艺儿不过让人长疙瘩就是了，”她重新坐了下来，“我已经托博伊德那家店里的老古板去给我弄点擦皮肤的东西了。”

肯尼迪小姐边斟着这会子刚泡出味儿来的茶，边皱起眉头央告道：

“求求你啦，可别跟我提他啦。”

“可你听我说呀，”杜丝小姐恳求说。

肯尼迪小姐斟了甜茶，兑上牛奶，并用小指堵起双耳。

“不，别说啦，”她大声说。

“我不要听，”她大声说。

可是，布卢姆呢?

杜丝小姐学着老古板的鼻音瓮声瓮气地说：

“擦在你的什么部位?--他就是这么说的。”

肯尼迪小姐为了倾听和说话，不再堵起耳朵了。可是她又开口说，并且恳求道：

“不要再让我想起他了，不然我会断气儿的。卑鄙讨厌的老家伙！那天晚上在安蒂恩特音乐堂里。”

她吸了一口自己兑好的热茶，不大合她口味。她一点点地吸着甜甜的茶。

“瞧他那个德行！”杜丝小姐说，并且把她那褐发的头抬起四分之三，鼓着鼻翼，“呼哧！呼哧！”

肯尼迪小姐的喉咙里爆出尖锐刺耳的大笑声。杜丝小姐那鼓起的鼻孔喷着气，像正在寻觅猎物的猎犬那样颤动着，粗鲁地发出吭哧吭哧声。

“哎呀！”肯尼迪小姐尖声嚷道，“你怎么能忘掉他那双滴溜溜转的眼睛呢?”

杜丝小姐发出深沉的褐色笑声来帮腔，并嚷道：

“还有你的另一只眼睛[26]！”

布卢姆那黑黑的眼睛读到了艾伦·菲加特纳的名字。我为什么老以为是菲加泽尔呢?大概联想到了采集无花果[27]吧。普罗斯珀·洛尔[28]这个名字必然是个胡格诺派。布卢姆那双黑黑的眼睛从巴希[29]的几座圣母玛利亚像前掠过。白衬衣上罩了蓝袍[30]的人儿呀，到我这儿来吧。人们都相信她是神，或者是女神。今儿个那些女神们。我没能看到那个地方。那家伙谈话来着。是个学生。后来跟迪达勒斯的儿子搞到一块儿去了。他或许就是穆利根吧。这都是些俏丽的处女们。所以才把那些浪荡子弟们都招来了。她那白净的。

他的眼光掠过去了。偷情的快乐。快乐是甜蜜的。

偷情的。

焕发着青春的、金褐色的嗓门交织成一片响亮的痴笑，杜丝和肯尼迪，你那另一只眼睛。她们--褐发和哧哧笑的金发往后仰着年轻的头，开怀大笑，失声大叫，你那另一只，相互使了个眼色，发出尖锐刺耳的声调。

啊，喘着气儿，叹息，叹息。啊，筋疲力尽，她们的欢乐逐渐平息了。

肯尼迪小姐把嘴唇凑到杯边，举杯呷了一口，哧哧地笑着。杜丝小姐朝茶盘弯下腰去，又把鼻子一皱，滴溜溜地转着她那双眼皮厚实、带滑稽意味的眼睛。肯尼迪又哧哧哧地笑着，俯下她那挽成高髻的金发;一俯下去，就露出插在后颈上的一把鳖甲梳子来了。她嘴里喷溅出茶水，给茶水和笑声噎住了，噎得直咳嗽，就嚷着。

“噢，好油腻的眼睛！想想看，竟嫁给那么一个男人！”她嚷道，“还留着一撮小胡子！”

杜丝尽情地喊得很出色，这是个风华正茂的女子的洪亮喊声：喜悦，快乐，愤慨。

“竟嫁给那么个油腻腻的鼻子！”她嚷道。

尖嗓门儿，夹杂着深沉的笑声，金色的紧跟着褐色，你追我赶，一声接一声，变幻着腔调，褐金的，金褐的，尖锐深沉，笑声接连不停。她们又笑了一大阵子。真是油腻腻的哩。耗尽了精力，上气不接下气，她们将晃着的头--那是用有光泽的梳子梳理成辫子并挽成高髻的--倚在柜台边儿上。全都涨红了脸(噢！)，气喘吁吁，淌着汗(噢！)，都透不过气儿来了。

嫁给布卢姆，嫁给那油腻腻的布卢姆。

“哦，天上的圣徒们！”杜丝小姐说。她低头望了望在自己胸前颤动着的玫瑰，叹了口气：“我从来还没笑得这么厉害过呢。我浑身都湿透了。”

“啊，杜丝小姐！”肯尼迪小姐表示异议，“你个讨厌鬼！”

她越发涨红了脸(你个讨厌鬼！)，越发金光焕发。

油腻腻的布卢姆正在坎特维尔的营业处，在塞皮[31]的几座油光闪闪的圣母像旁游荡。南尼蒂的父亲就曾挨门挨户地叫卖过这类货品，像我这样用花言巧语骗人。宗教有赚头。为了凯斯那条广告的事儿，得跟他见一面。先填饱肚子再说。我想要。还不到时候哪。她说过，在四点钟。[32]光阴跑得真快。时针转个不停。向前走。在哪儿吃呀？克拉伦斯[33]。海豚[34]。向前走。为了拉乌尔。如果我能从那些广告上捞到五吉尼。紫罗兰色的丝绸衬裙。还不到时候。偷情的快乐。

脸上的红润消退了，越来越消退了，金黄色变得淡了。

迪达勒斯先生溜溜达达地走进了她们的酒吧。碎屑，从他那两个大拇指的灰指甲上削下碎屑。碎屑。他漫步走来。

“咦，欢迎你回来啦，杜丝小姐。”

他握着她的手，问她假日度得可开心吗？

“再开心不过啦。”

他希望她在罗斯特雷沃[35]赶上了好天气。

“天气好极了，”她说，“瞧瞧我都晒成什么样子啦！成天躺在沙滩上。”

褐中透白。

“那你可太淘气[36]啦，”迪达勒珀先生对她说，并放纵地紧握住她的手，“可怜的傻男人都给你迷住啦。”

身着缎子衬衫的杜丝小姐安详地将自己的胳膊抽了回去。

“哦，你给我走吧！我可不认为你是个非常傻的人。”

可他是傻里傻气的。

“喏，我就是傻，”他沉思了一下，“我在摇篮里就显得那么傻，他们就给我取名叫傻西蒙。[37]”

“那时候你准是挺逗人爱的，”杜丝小姐回答说，“今天大夫要你喝点什么呀？”

“唔，喏，”他沉吟了一忽儿，“凡事都听你的吧。我想麻烦你给我来点清水和半杯威士忌。”

丁零。

“马上就端来，”杜丝小姐答应道。

她风度翩翩地发挥了麻利快这一本事之后，立刻就转向镀有“坎特雷尔与科克伦”一行金字的镜子。她举止娴雅地拔开透明容器的塞子，倒出一份金色的威士忌。迪达勒斯先生从上衣下摆底下掏出烟草袋和烟斗。她敏捷地为他把酒端了来。他用烟斗两次吹出横笛的沙哑音响。

“可不是嘛，”他若有所思地说，“我一直想去看看莫恩山[38]。那儿的空气准有益于健康。但是俗话说得好，久而久之，前兆终究会应验。是啊。是啊。”

是啊。他把一小撮细丝，她的处女发，她的人鱼发[39]，塞进烟

斗里。碎屑。一小绺。沉思。缄默无言。

谁都不曾说片言只语。是啊。

杜丝小姐边快活地打磨着平底大酒杯，边颤悠悠地唱了起来：

噢，艾多洛勒斯，东海的女王！[40]

“利德维尔先生今天来过吗？”

利内翰走进来了。利内翰四下里打量着。布卢姆先生走到埃塞克珀桥跟前。是啊，布卢姆先生跨过那塞克斯桥[41]。我得给玛莎写封信。买点信纸。达利烟店。那里的女店员挺殷勤的。布卢姆，老布卢姆。稞麦地开蓝花[42]。

“吃午饭的时候他来过，”杜丝小姐说。

利内翰凑近了些。

“博伊兰先生找我来着吗？”

他问。她回答说：

“肯尼迪小姐，我在楼上的时候博伊兰先生来过吗？”

肯尼迪把第二杯茶端稳了，两眼盯着书页，用小姐式的腔调回答她这句问话：

“没有，他没来过。”

肯尼迪虽听见了，却连抬也不抬一下她那小姐派头的目光，继续读下去。利内翰那圆滚滚的身躯绕着放三明治的钟形玻璃罩走了一圈。

“闷儿！谁在那个角落里哪？”[43]

肯尼迪连睬都不曾睬他一眼，可他还是试着向她献殷勤，提醒她要注意句号。教她光读黑字：圆圆的0和弯曲的S。[44]

辚辚，轻快二轮马车辚辚。

金发女侍看着书，连睬都不睬。她不屑一顾。当他凭着记忆用没有抑扬的腔调呆板地背诵浅显的寓言[45]时，她还是不屑一顾：

“一只狐狸遇见了一只鹳。狐狸对鹳说：‘你把嘴伸进我的喉咙，替我拽出一根骨头好不好？，”[46]

他徒然地用单调低沉的声音讲了这么一段。杜丝小姐把脸掉向旁边那杯茶。

他叹了口气，自言自语他说：

“哎呀！啊唷！”

他向迪达勒斯先生致意，对方朝他点了点头。

“一位著名的儿子向他的著名的父亲问候。”

“你指的是谁呀？”迪达勒斯先生说。

利内翰极其和蔼地摊开了双臂。谁呀？

“能是谁呢？”他问，“你还用得着问吗？是斯蒂芬，青年‘大诗人’呀。”

干渴。

著名的父亲迪达勒斯先生将他那填满干烟叶的烟斗撂在一旁。

“原来如此，”他说，“我一时还没悟过来指的是谁呢。我听说他交的朋友都是精心挑选的。你新近见到过他吗？”

他见过。

“今天我还和他一道痛饮过美酒哩，”利内翰说，“城里的穆尼酒馆和海滨上的[47]穆尼酒馆。凭着在诗歌上的努力，他拿到了一笔钱。”

他朝着褐发女侍那被茶水润湿了的嘴唇--倾听着他说话的嘴唇和眼睛，露出了微笑：

“爱琳””的精英们都洗耳恭听。包括都柏林最有才华的新闻记者兼编辑、堂堂的饱学之士休·麦克休，和那位生在荒芜多雨的西部、以奥马登·伯克这一动听的称呼闻名的少年吟游诗人。[49]”

过了一会儿，迪达勒斯先生举起他那杯兑水威士忌。

“那一定挺逗趣儿的，”他说，“我明白了。”

他明白了。他饮着酒。眼睛里露出眺望远处哀伤之山[50]的神色。他将玻璃杯撂下了。

他朝大厅的门望去。

“看来你们把钢琴挪动了位置。”

“今天调音师来了，”杜丝小姐回答说，“是为了举办允许吸烟的音乐会而调的音。我从来没见过像他那样出色的钢琴演奏家。”

“真的吗？”

“他弹得好吧，肯尼迪小姐？要知道，真正的古典弹奏法。他还是个盲人呢，怪可怜的。我敢肯定他还不满二十岁。”

“真的吗？”迪达勒斯先生说。

他喝完了酒，缓步走开了。

“我一看他的脸就觉得难过，”杜丝小姐用同情的口吻说。

天打雷霹的，你这婊子养的杂种！[51]

与她表示的怜悯相配合，[52]餐厅的铃铛叮啷一声响了。秃头帕特到酒吧和餐厅的门口来了。聋子帕特来了，奥蒙德饭店的茶房帕特来了。给吃饭的客人预备的陈啤酒[53]。她不慌不忙地端上了陈啤酒。

利内翰耐心地等待着不耐烦的博伊兰，等待着辚辚地驾着轻快二轮马车而来的那个恶魔般的纨绔子[54]。

掀开盖子，他[55]（谁？）逼视着木框（棺材？）里那斜绷着的三重（钢琴！）钢丝。他（就是曾经放肆地紧握过她的手的那个人）踩着柔音踏板，按了按三个三和弦音键，试一下油毛毡厚度的变化，听一听用毡子裹住的琴槌敲击出的音响效果。

聪明的布卢姆（亨利·弗罗尔[56]）在达利商行买了两张奶油色的仿羔皮纸（一张是备用的），两个信封，边买边回想着自己在威兹德姆·希利的店里工作时的事。你在自己家里不幸福吗？[57]花是为了安慰我，把爱情断送掉的针。[58]花的语言[59]是有含义的。那是一朵雏菊吗？象征着天真无邪。望完弥撒后，跟品行端正的良家少女[60]见面。多谢多谢。聪明的布卢姆望着贴在门上的一张招贴画。一个吸着烟的美人鱼在绮丽的波浪当中扭动着腰肢。吸美人鱼牌香烟吧，吸那无比凉爽的烟吧。头发随波飘荡，害着相思病。为了某个男人。为了拉乌尔。他放眼望去，只见远远地在埃塞克斯桥上，远远地望到一顶花哨的帽子乘着二轮轻快马车。那就是[61]。又碰见了。这是第三回了。巧合。

马车那柔软的胶皮轱辘从桥上辚辚地驰向奥蒙德码头。跟上去。冒一下险。快点儿走。四点钟。如今快到了。走出去吧。

“两便士，先生，”女店员壮起胆子来说。

“啊……我忘记了……对不起……”

“外加四便士。”

四点钟，她。她朝着布卢姆嫣然一笑。布卢、微笑、快、走。[62]再见。难道你以为自己是沙滩上唯一的小石头子儿吗？她对所有的人都这样，只要是男人。

金发女侍昏昏欲睡，默默地朝着她正读着的书页俯下身去。

从大厅里传来一阵声音，拖得长长的，逐渐消失。这是调音师忘下的音叉，他[63]正拿着敲呢。又响了一声。他把它悬空拿着，这次它发出了颤音。你听见了吗？它发出了颤音，清纯，更加清纯；柔和，更加柔和。那营营声拖得长长的。呼唤声拖得越来越悠长，逐渐消失。

帕特替客人叫的那瓶现拔塞子的酒付了款。在离开之前，秃头而面带困惑表情的他，隔着大酒杯、托盘和现拔塞子的那瓶酒，跟杜丝小姐打起耳喳来。

灿烂的星辰褪了色。……[64]

从里面传来“无声歌”[65]的曲调：

……即将破晓。

一双敏感的手下，十二个半音像小鸟鸣啭一般做出快活的最高音区的回应。所有的音键都明亮地闪烁着，相互连结，统统像羽管键琴[66]般轰鸣着，呼吁歌喉去唱那被露水打湿了的早晨，唱青春，唱与情人的离别，唱生命和爱的清晨。

露水如珍珠……

利内翰的嘴唇隔着柜台低低地吹着诱人的口哨。

“可是朝这边望望吧，”他说，“你这朵卡斯蒂利亚的玫瑰[67]。”

轻快二轮马车辚辚地驰到人行道的边石那儿停住了。

她站起来，阖上书本。这朵卡斯蒂利亚的玫瑰烦恼而孤寂，睡眼惺松地站了起来。

“她””是自甘堕落呢，还是被迫的呢？”他问她。

她以轻蔑口吻回答：

“别问了，你也就听不到瞎话啦。”[68]

像个大家闺秀，摆出大家闺秀的架势。

布莱泽斯·博伊兰那双款式新颖的棕黄色皮鞋在他大踏步走着的酒吧间地板上橐橐响着。是啊，金发女侍从近处，褐发女侍从远处。利内翰听见了，晓得是他，并向他欢呼：

“瞧，英雄的征服者驾到。”[69]

布卢姆这位不可征服的英雄从马车与窗户之间小心翼翼地穿过去。说不定他还瞧见了我呢。他坐过的座位还有股热气儿呢。他像一只谨慎的黑色公猫似的朝着里奇·古尔丁那只举起来向他打招呼的公文包走去。

而我从卿卿……

“我听说你到这儿来啦，”布莱泽斯·博伊兰说。

他用手碰了一下歪戴着的草帽檐儿，向金发的肯尼迪小姐致意。她朝他笑了笑。可是跟她形同姐妹的那个褐发女侍笑得比她还甜，像是在向他夸耀着自己那更加浓密的头发和那插着玫瑰的酥胸。

[潇洒的][70]博伊兰叫了酒。

“你要点儿什么？苦啤酒？请给来一杯苦啤酒。给我野梅红杜松子酒。结果出来了吗？”[71]

还没有。四点钟，他。都说是四点钟。

考利神父那红润的耳朵垂儿和突出的喉结出现在行政司法长官公署的门口。躲开他吧。赶巧碰上了古尔丁。他在奥蒙德干什么哪？还让马车等着。且慢。

喂，你好。到哪儿去呀？要吃点儿什么吗？我也刚好要。就在这儿吧。哦，奥蒙德？在都柏林说得上是最实惠的。哦，是吗？餐厅。就一动不动地坐在那儿。能够看见他，却别让他看见自己。我陪你一道去。来吧。里奇在前面引路。布卢姆跟在他的公文包后边。这饭菜足可以招待王爷。[72]

杜丝小姐伸出她那裹在缎袖中的胳膊去够一只大肚酒瓶，她那胸脯挺得高高的，几乎快绷裂了。

“噢！噢！”她每往上一挺，利内翰就倒吸一口气，并急促地说，“噢！”

然而她顺顺当当地抓到了猎物，洋洋得意地把它撂在低处。

“你为什么不长高点儿呢？”布莱泽斯·博伊兰问。

这位褐发女侍从瓶子里为他的嘴唇倾倒出浓郁的甜酒，望着它哗哗地往外流（他上衣上那朵花儿，是谁送的呢？），然后用甜得像糖浆般的嗓音说：

“好货色总是小包装的。”

这指的是她本人喽。她灵巧地慢慢倾倒着那糖浆状野梅红杜松子酒。

“祝你走运，”布莱泽斯说。

他掷下一枚大硬币。硬币眶啷一响。

“等着吧，”利内翰说，“直到我……”

“交了好运，”他表示自己的愿望，并举起冒泡的淡色浓啤酒。

“‘权杖’[73]不费吹灰之力就能取胜，”他说。

“我下了点儿赌注，”博伊兰边眨眼边喝着酒说，“要知道，不是我本人出的钱。是我的一个朋友心血来潮。”

利内翰继续喝着酒，并且朝自己杯中这倾斜着的啤酒以及杜丝小姐那微启的嘴唇咧嘴笑了笑。她那嘴唇差点儿把刚才颤巍巍地唱过的海洋之歌哼出来。艾多洛勒斯。东海。

时钟在响着。肯尼迪小姐从他们旁边经过（花儿，我纳闷是谁送的？），端走了托盘。时钟喀嗒喀嗒地响着。

杜丝小姐拿起博伊兰的硬币，使劲用它敲了一下现金出纳机。它发出一片眶啷声。时钟喀嗒喀嗒地响着。埃及美女[74]在钱箱里又扒拉又挑拣，嘴里哼唱着，递给了他找头。朝西边望去[75]，喀嗒。为了我。

“几点钟啦？”布莱泽斯·博伊兰问，“四点？”

钟。

利内翰那双小眼睛贪婪地盯住正在哼唱着的她，盯住哼唱着的胸脯，并拽拽布莱泽斯·博伊兰的袖管。

“咱们听听那个拍子[76]吧，”他说。

古尔丁- 科利斯- 沃德法律事务所的那只公文包领着布卢姆，从那些裸麦地里开着花的桌子[77]之间穿行。他对自己的目的感到兴奋，在秃头帕特侍奉下，随随便便选了一张靠近门口的桌子。好挨得近一点儿。四点钟。难道他忘记了不成？兴许是玩花样。不来了：吊吊胃口。我可做不到。等啊，等啊。帕特，茶房，侍奉着。

褐发女侍那对闪亮的碧眼瞅着布莱泽斯那天蓝色的蝴蝶领结和一双天蓝色的眼睛。

“来吧，”利内翰苦苦相劝，“谁都不在嘛。他还从来没听过呢。”

……紧步凑向弗萝拉的嘴唇。[78]

高高的、高高的音调--最高音部，清晰地响彻着。

褐发女侍杜丝边跟自己那朵忽沉忽浮的玫瑰谈着心，边渴求布莱泽斯·博伊兰的鲜花和眼睛。

“劳驾啦，劳驾啦。”

为了让她说出表示同意的话，他一再央求着。

我离不开卿卿……[79]

“呆会儿再说，”杜丝小姐羞答答地答应道。

“不，马上就来，”利内翰催促着，“敲响那白钟！[88]啥，来吧！谁都不在嘛。”

她瞧了瞧。可得抓紧。从肯小姐[81]所在的地方是听不见的。猛地弯下身去。两张兴奋起来的面庞正凝视着她弯腰。

游离主调的和弦，失去的和弦[82]颤悠悠地重新找到了，接着又失去了，并又找到了震颤的主调。

“来吧！干吧！敲响！[8c]”

她弯下身，捏着裙子下摆一直撩到膝盖以上。磨磨蹭蹭地。弯着腰，迟迟疑疑，以胸有成竹的眼神继续挑逗着他们。

“敲响！[84]”

啪！她突然撤开捏着松紧袜带的手，让它啪的一声缓缓地碰回到她那包在暖和的长袜里、能够发出声响的女人大腿上。

“那口钟！[85]”利内翰极高兴地嚷哔，“老板训练有方。无可挑剔。”

她目空一切地堆出一脸做作的笑容（哭鼻子了！男人不就会这样么！），却朝亮处悄悄溜去，对博伊兰投以柔和的微笑。

“你这个人庸俗透顶，”她边滑也似地走去，边说。

博伊兰以目传神，以目传神。他把厚厚的嘴唇凑在倾着的杯子上，干了那一小杯，吸着杯中最后几滴糖浆般的紫罗兰色浓酒。当她的头从酒吧间里那镀了金字的拱形镜子旁边闪过时，他那双着了迷的眼睛紧紧追随着她；镜中可以望到的盛着姜麦酒、白葡萄酒和红葡萄酒的玻璃杯，以及一只又尖又长的海螺闪了过去，褐发女侍和更加明亮的褐发女侍一时交相辉映。

是啊，褐发女侍从近处走开了。

……情人啊，再见吧！（86）

“我走啦，”博伊兰不耐烦他说。

他精神抖擞地推开杯子，一把抓起找给他的零钱。

“等一会儿，”利内翰赶忙把酒喝了恳求说，“我有话告诉你。托姆·罗赤福特……”

“他就欠下地狱啦，”布莱泽斯·博伊兰边说边提起脚就走。

利内翰为了好跟着他走，把酒一饮而尽。

“难道你长犄角[87]了吗？”他说，“等一等。马上我就来。”

他跟在那双匆匆地橐橐响着的鞋后边走去，然而到了门口就麻利地在一胖一瘦两个互相寒暄着的身影旁边站住了。

“你好，本·多拉德先生。”

“呃？好吗？好吗？”正在听考利神父诉苦的本·多拉德，掉过脸去，用含含糊糊的男低音说，“他不会来找你什么麻烦了，鲍勃。阿尔夫·柏根会跟那高个子[88]谈一谈。这回咱们要往加略人犹大[89]的耳朵里塞根大麦秆。”

迪达勒斯先生叹着气穿过大厅走来了，他用一个指头揉着眼睑。

“嘿，嘿，咱们就是得给他塞，”本·多拉德就像是用约德尔[90]唱法似的兴高采烈他说，“来吧，西蒙。给咱唱个小调儿。我们听到你弹的钢琴喽。”

歇顶的帕特，耳聋的茶房正等着客人们叫饮料。里奇叫的是鲍尔威士忌[91]。布卢姆呢？让我想想看。省得让他跑两趟。他脚上长了鸡眼呢。此刻已经四点钟啦。这身黑衣服穿着多热呀。当然，神经也有些作怪。它折射着（是吗？）热能。让我想想看。苹果酒。对，一瓶苹果酒。

“那算什么呀？”迪达勒斯先生说，“伙计，我不过是凑凑热闹。”

“来吧，来吧，”本·多拉德嚷道，“把忧愁赶走！[92]来呀，鲍勃。”

他--多拉德，穿着那条肥大的裤子，领着他们（瞧那个衣着不整的家伙，现在就瞧）缓步走进大厅。他--多拉德，一屁股坐在琴凳上。他那双患痛风症的手咚的一声戳了一下琴键。咚的一声，又嘎然而止。

秃头帕特在门道里碰见手里没有了茶盘的金发女侍走了回来。他面带困惑神色请她端杯鲍尔威士忌和一瓶苹果酒来。褐发女侍在窗畔注视着。褐发女恃从远处。

轻快二轮马车辚辚地驰过。

布卢姆听见辚的一声，轻微的。他走啦。布卢姆对着沉默的蓝色花儿，像鸣咽一般轻轻地叹了口气。辚辚。他走啦。辚辚。听哪。

“《恋爱与战争》[93]，本，”迪达勒斯先生说，“天主祝福往昔的岁月。”

杜丝小姐那双大胆的眼睛无人理睬，她受不了阳光的刺激， 就把视线从半截帘子那儿移开了。走掉啦。郁郁不乐（有谁知道呢？）， 实在太扎眼（那刺目的阳光！）她拽了拽拉绳，撂下了窗帘。这当儿，褐发下面浮泛着郁郁不乐之色。（他为什么这么匆匆忙忙地就走了开，正当我要？）， 款款来到酒吧间。秃头正挨着金发姊妹站在那儿，形成了不协调的对比， 对比起来不协调，全然不协调的对比。徐缓、冰凉、朦胧地滑到阴影深处的海绿色，一片淡绿蓝色[94]。

“那天晚上弹钢琴的是可怜的古德温老爷爷，”考利神父提醒他们说，“他本人和那架科勒德牌三角钢琴[95]不大合得来。”

是这样的。

“光听他一个人说了，”迪达勒斯先生说，“连魔鬼都制止不了他。喝得半醉的时候，他就成了个怪脾气的老家伙。”

“哎唷，你还记得吗？”本，大块头多拉德从受他惩罚的琴键前掉转身来说，“而且他妈的我当时也没有婚礼服呢。”

他们三个人都笑了。他没有结婚。三个全笑了。没有婚礼穿

的礼服。

“那个晚上，咱们的朋友布卢姆可帮了大忙，”迪达勒斯先生说，“哦，我的烟斗哪儿去啦？”

他踱回到酒吧间去找那支失去的和弦烟斗[ 96] 。秃头帕特正给里奇和帕迪两位顾客送饮料。考利神父又笑了一通。

“看来是我给救了急，本。”

“可不就是你嘛，”本·多拉德斩钉截铁他说，“我还记得那条紧巴巴的长裤的事儿。那可是个高明的主意，鲍勃。”

考利神父的脸一直涨红到紫红色的耳垂儿。他打开了局面。紧巴巴的长裤。高明的主意。

“我晓得他手头紧。他老婆每星期六在咖啡宫[97]弹钢琴，挣不了几个钱。是谁来着，透露给我说，她在于着另一种行当。[98] 。为了寻找他们，我们不得不走遍整条霍利斯街，最后还是基奥那家店里的伙计告诉了我们门牌号码。记得吗？”

本记起来了，他那张宽脸盘儿露出诧异的神情。

“哎唷，她尽管住在那样的地方，却还有赴歌剧院的豪华大氅什么的。”

迪达勒斯先生手里拿着烟斗，溜溜达达地走回来了。

“梅里昂方场[99]的款式。好多件舞衣，哎唷，还有不少件宫廷服装。然而他从来不让老婆掏钱。对吧？她有一大堆两端尖的帽子、博莱罗[100]和灯笼裤。对吧？”

“唉，唉，”迪达勒斯先生点了点头，“玛莉恩·布卢姆太太有各式各样不再穿的衣服。[1 01]

轻快二轮马车辚辚地沿着码头奔驰而去。布莱泽斯在富于弹性的轮胎上伸开四肢，颠簸着。

“肝和熏猪肉。牛排配腰子饼。”“好的，先生，好的，”帕特说。

玛莉恩太太。遇见了他尖头胶皮管[1 02]。一股糊味儿，一本保罗·德·科克[103]的。他这个名字多好！

“她叫什么来着？倒是个活泼丰满的姑娘。玛莉恩……？”

“特威迪。”

“对。她还活着吗？”

“活得欢势着哪，”

“她是谁的闺女来着……”

“联队的闺女。”

“对，一点儿不假。我记起那个老鼓手长来了。”

迪达勒斯先生划了根火柴，嚓的一声点燃了，噗地喷出一口馨香的烟，又喷出一口。

“是爱尔兰人吗？我真不知道哩。她是吗，西蒙？”

然后猛吸进一口，强烈，馨香，发出一阵噼啪声。

“脸蛋儿上的肌肉……怎样？……有点儿褪了色……噢，她是……我的爱尔兰妞儿摩莉，噢。[ 104] ”

他吐出一股刺鼻的羽毛状的烟。

“从直布罗陀的岩石那儿……大老远地来的。”

她们在海洋的阴影深处苦苦地恋慕着[ 105] ，金发女侍守在啤酒泵柄旁，褐发女侍挨着野樱桃酒；两个人都陷入沉思。住在德拉姆康德拉[1 06]的利斯英尔高台街四号的米娜·肯尼迪以及艾多洛勒斯，一位女王，多洛勒斯[1 07]，都一声不响。

帕特上了菜，把罩子一一掀开。利奥波德切着肝。正如前文[118]所说的，他吃起下水、有嚼头的胗和炸雌鳕卵来真是津津有味。考立斯- 沃德律师事务所的里奇·古尔丁则吃着牛排配腰子饼。他先吃牛排，然后吃腰子。他一口口地吃饼。布卢姆吃着，他们吃着。

布卢姆和古尔丁默默地相互配合，吃了起来。那是一顿足以招待王爷的正餐。

单身汉[1 09]布莱泽斯·博伊兰顶着太阳在溽暑中乘着双轮轻便马车，母马那光滑的臀部被鞭子轻打着，倚靠那富于弹性的轮胎，沿着巴切勒[110] 便道辚辚前进。博伊兰摊开四肢焐暖着座席，心里急不可耐，热切而大胆。犄角。你长那个了吗？犄角。你长了吗？

呜--呜--号角[111]。

多拉德的嗓门像大管[112] 似的冲来，压过他们那炮轰般的和音：

当狂恋使我神魂颠倒之际……

本灵魂本杰明[ 113] 那雷鸣般的声音响震撼屋宇，震得天窗玻璃直颤抖着，爱情的颤抖。

“战争！战争！”考利神父大声在嚷，“你是勇士。”

“正是这样，”勇士本笑着说，“我正想着你的房东[114] 呢。恋爱也罢，金钱也罢。”

他住了口。为了自己犯的大错，他摇晃着大脸盘上的大胡子。

“就凭你这样的声量，”迪达勒斯先生在香烟缭绕中说，“你准会弄破她的膜[115] ，伙计。”

多拉德摇晃着胡子，在键盘上大笑了一通。他是做得到的。

“且别提另一个膜了，”考利神父补充说，“歇口气吧。含情但勿过甚[116]。我来弹吧。”

肯尼迪小姐给两位先生端来两大杯清凉烈性黑啤酒。她寒暄了一声。第一位先生说，这可真是好天气。他们喝着清凉烈性黑啤酒。她可晓得总督大人是到哪儿去吗？可曾听见蹄铁响，马蹄声。不，她说不准。不过，这会儿报的。噢，不用麻烦她啦。不麻烦。她摇晃着那份摊开的《独立报》，她寻找着总督大人。她那高高挽起的发髻慢慢移动着，寻找着总督大人。第一位先生说，太麻烦了。哪里，一点也不费事。喏，他就像那样盯着看。总督大人。金发挨着褐发，听见了蹄铁声，钢铁响。

……我神魂颠倒之际，

顾不得为明天而焦虑。[117]

布卢姆在肝汁里搅拌着土豆泥。恋爱与战争--有人就是这样的。本·多拉德大名鼎鼎。有一天晚上，他跑来向我们借一套为了赴那次音乐会穿的夜礼服。裤子像鼓面那样紧紧地绷在他身上。一头音乐猪。他走出去之后，摩莉大笑了一阵。她仰面往床上一倒，又是尖叫，又是踢踢踹踹。这不是把他的物儿统统都展览出来了吗？啊，天上的圣人们，我真是一身大汗！啊，坐在前排的女客可怎么好！啊，我从来没笑得这么厉害过！喏，就是那样，他才能发得出那低沉的桶音[118] 。比方说，那些阉人。谁在弹琴呢？韵味儿不错。准是考利，有音乐素质。无论奏什么曲调，都能理解。可是他有口臭的毛病，可怜的人。琴声停止了。

富于魅力的杜丝小姐，莉迪亚·杜丝朝着正走进来的一位先生--和蔼可亲的初级律师乔治·利德维尔鞠着躬。您好。她伸出一只湿润的、上流小姐的手，他紧紧地握住。您好。是的，她已经回来啦。又忙忙碌碌地干起来了。

“您的朋友们在里面呢，利德维尔先生。”

乔治·利德维尔，和蔼可亲，像是受诱惑般地握住一只肉感的手。[119]

正如前文说过的，布卢姆吃了肝。这里至少挺清洁。在伯顿饭馆，那家伙用齿龈对付软骨。这里什么人也没有。除了古尔丁和我。干净的桌布，花儿，状似主教冠的餐巾。帕特张罗来张罗去。秃头帕特。无所事事。在都柏林市，这里最物美价廉了。

又弹起钢琴来了。那是考利。当他面对钢琴而坐时，好像和它融为一体，相互理解。那些徒有其表、令人厌烦的乐师们在弦上乱拨一气。盯着琴弓的一头，就像拉锯般地拉起大提琴，使你想起牙疼时的情景。她高声打起长的呼噜。那晚上我们坐在包厢里，幕间休息的时候，长号在下面像海豚般地喘着气：另一个吹铜管乐器的汉子拧了一下螺丝，把积存的唾沫倒出来。指挥的两条腿在松松垮垮的长裤里跳着吉格舞[120]。把他们遮藏起来还是对的。

双轮轻快马车辚辚地疾驰而去。

只有竖琴。可爱灿烂的金光。少女拨弄着它。可爱的臀部，倒很适宜醮上点儿肉汁。黄金的船。爱琳。那竖琴也被摸过一两次。冰凉的手。[121]霍斯山，杜鹃花丛。我们是她们的竖琴。我。他。老的。年轻的。

“啊，我不行，老兄，”迪达勒斯先生畏畏缩缩、无精打采地说

得用强硬的口气。

“弹下去，妈的！”本·多拉德大声嚷道，“一小段一小段地来

“来一段《爱情如今》[122] ，西蒙，”考利神父说。

他朝舞台下首迈了几大步，神情严肃，无限悲伤地摊开了长长的胳膊。他的喉结嘶哑地发出轻微的嘎声。他对着那里的一幅罩满尘土的海景画《最后的诀别》[123] 柔声唱了起来。伸入大海中的岬角，一艘船，随着起伏的孤帆。再见吧。可爱的少女。她的面纱随风围着她刮，它在风中朝着岬角飘动。
考利唱道：

爱情如今造访，

攫住我的目光……

少女不去听考利的歌声。她对那离去的心上人，对风，对恋情，对疾驶的帆，对归去者，摇着她的轻纱。

“弹下去吧，西蒙。”

“哎，我的全盛时期确实已经过去了，[124] 本……喏……”

迪达勒斯先生将自己的烟斗撂在音叉旁边，坐下来，碰了碰那顺从的键盘。

“不，西蒙，”考利神父掉过身来说，“照原来的谱子来弹。一个降号。”[125]

键盘乖乖地变得高昂了，诉说着，踌躇着，表白着，迷惘着。

考利神父朝舞台上首大踏步走去。

“喂，西蒙，我为你伴奏，”他说，“起来吧。”

那辆轻快双轮马车从格雷厄姆·莱蒙店里的菠萝味硬糖果和埃尔韦里的象记商店旁边，辚辚地驰过去。

布卢姆和古尔丁严然像王侯一般坐下来，牛排、腰子、肝、土豆泥，吃那顿适宜给王侯吃的饭。他们像进餐中的王侯似的举杯而饮鲍尔威士忌和苹果酒。

里奇说，这是迄今为男高音写的最优美的曲调：《梦游女》[126] 。一天晚上，他曾听见乔·马斯[127] 演唱过。啊，麦古金[128] 真了不起！对。有他独特的方式。少年唱诗班的味道。那少年名叫马斯。弥撒[129] 少年。可以说他是抒情性的男高音。听了之后永远不会忘记，永远不会。

布卢姆消灭了肝之后，就边吃剩下的牛排，边满怀同情地看着对面那张绷起来的脸上泛出的紧张神色。他背疼。布赖特氏病患者那种明亮的目光[130] 。节目单上下一个项目。付钱给吹笛手。[131]药片，像是用面包渣做成的玩艺儿，一吉尼一匣。拖欠一阵再说。也来唱唱：在死者当中[132] 。腰子饼。好花儿给。[133] 赚不了多少钱。东西倒是值。鲍尔威士忌，喝起酒来挺挑剔：什么玻璃杯有碴儿啦，要换一杯瓦尔特里[134] 水啦。为了省几个钱，就从柜台上捞几盒火柴。然后又去挥霍一金镑。等到该付钱的时候，却又一文也拿不出来了。喝醉了就连马车钱也赖着不给。好古怪的家伙。

里奇永远也不会忘记那个夜晚。只要他活着一天，就绝忘不掉的。在古老的皇家剧场的顶层楼座，还带着小皮克[ 135] 。刚一奏起第一个音符。

里奇把到嘴边儿的话咽回去了。

眼下撒开弥天大谎来了。不论说什么都狂热地夸张。还相信自己的瞎话。真的深信不疑。天字第一号撒谎家。可他缺的是一份好记性。[136]

“那是什么曲子呀？”利奥波德·布卢姆问。

“‘现在一切都失去啦’[137] 。”

里奇噘起嘴来。可爱的狺女[138] 喃喃地唱着音调低沉的序曲：一切。一只画眉。一只画眉鸟。他的呼吸像鸟鸣那样甜美，他引为自豪的一口好牙之间，以长笛般的声音唱出哀愁苦恼。失去了。嗓音圆润。这当儿两个音调融合在一起了。我在山楂谷[139] 听见了画眉的啭鸣。它接过我的基调，将其揉和，变了调。过于新颖的呼声，消失在万有之中。回声。多么婉转悠扬的回音啊！[144] 那是怎样形成的呢？现在一切都失去啦。[141]他哀渤地吹着口哨。垮台，降伏，消失。

布卢姆一面把花边桌垫的流苏塞到花瓶底下，一面竖起他那豹子[142]耳朵。秩序。是啊，我记得。可人的曲子。在梦游中她来到他跟前。一位沐浴在月光中的天真烂漫的少女。勇敢。不了解他们所面临的险境。然而还是把她留住吧。呼唤她的名字。摸摸水。[143] 轻快双轮马车辚辚。太迟啦[144] 她巴望着去。正因为如此。女人。拦截海水倒还容易一些。是的，一切都失去啦。

“一支优美的曲子，”布卢姆，忘乎所以的利奥波德说，“我对它很熟悉。”

里奇·古尔丁平生从来不曾……

他对这一点也一清二楚。或许已有所觉察。依然念念不忘地提他的女儿。[145] 迪达勒斯曾说：“只有聪明的女儿才会知道自己的父亲。”[146]我呢？

布卢姆隔着他那只肝儿已经吃光了的盘子，斜眼望去。失去了一切的人的面庞。这位里奇一度也曾沉缅于狂欢作乐。他玩的那些把戏而今都已过时了。什么扇耳朵啦，透过餐巾套环[147] 往外窥伺啦。现在他派儿子送出去几封告帮信。斗鸡眼的沃尔特[148]说，爹，我照办了，爹。我不想麻烦您，但我原是指望能收到一笔钱。替自己辩解。

又弹起钢琴来了。音色比我上次听到的要好些。大概调了音。

又停止了。

多拉德和考利还在催促那个迟迟疑疑的歌手唱起来。

“来吧，西蒙。”

“来，西蒙。”

“女士们，先生们，承蒙各位不弃，我深深表示感谢。”

“来，西蒙。”

“我不称钱，然而您们要是肯听的话，我就为大家唱一支沉痛的心灵之曲[149] 。”

在帘子的遮荫下，钟形三明治容器旁边，莉迪亚胸前插了朵玫瑰。一位褐发淑女的娴雅派头，忽隐忽现；而金发挽成高髻、沉浸在冰凉而银光闪闪的一片淡绿蓝色[150]中的米娜，在两位举着大酒杯的顾客面前也是这样。

前奏旋律结束了。拖得长长的、仿佛有所期待的和弦消失了。

当我初见那绰约身姿时[151]

里奇回过头去。

“西·迪达勒斯的声音，”他说。

他们脑子里充满了兴奋欣喜，涨红了双颊，边听边感受到一股恋慕之情流过肌肤、四肢、心脏、灵魂和脊背。布卢姆朝耳背头秃的帕特打了个手势，叫他把酒吧间的门半开着。酒吧间的门。就是这样。这样就行了。茶房帕特在那儿听候吩咐，因为站在门口听不清楚。

我的悲哀似乎将消失。

一个低沉的声音穿过静寂的空气传了过来。那不是雨，也不是沙沙作响的树叶；既不像是弦音或芦苇声，又不像那叫什么来着——杜西玛琴[152] ；用歌词触碰他们静静的耳朵，在他们各自宁静的心中，勾起往日生活的记忆，好哇，值得一听。他们刚刚一听，两个人的悲哀就好像分别消失了。当他们——里奇和波尔迪——初见美的女神而感到茫然时，他们从丝毫也不曾想到的人儿嘴里，第一次听到温柔眷恋、情意脉脉、无限缠绵的话语。

爱情在歌唱。古老甜蜜的情歌。[153]布卢姆缓缓地解开他那包包上的松紧带。敲响恋人那古老甜蜜的金发。[154]布卢姆将松紧带绕在四根叉开来的指头上，伸开来，松了松，又将它两道、四道、八道地绕在不安的指头上，勒得紧紧的。

胸中充满希望欣喜……

男高音歌手能够把好几十个女人弄到手。这样他们的嗓音就洪亮了。妇女们朝他脚下投鲜花。咱们什么时候能见面呢？[ 155] 简直让我晕头[156] 。辚辚地响着，欢天喜地。他不能专为戴大礼帽的演唱。简直让你晕头转向[157]为他而擦香水。你太太使用哪一种香水。我想知道。辚辚。停下来了。敲门。[158] 在开门之前，她总是先对着镜子照上最后一眼。门厅。啊，来了！你好吗？我很好。那儿吗？什么？要么就是？她的手提包里装着口香片，接吻时吃的糖果。要吗？双手去抚摩她那丰满的……[159]

哎呀，歌声高昂了，叹息着，变了调。洪亮，饱满，辉煌，自豪。

幻梦破灭一场空虚……

他至今仍有着一副极美妙的歌喉。科克人的歌声就是柔和一些，就连土腔都是这样。傻瓜！本来能够挣到海钱的。净唱错歌词。把他老婆活活地累死了。现下他倒唱起来了。然而很难说。只有他们两个[160]在一起。只要他不垮下来。沿着林荫路还能跑出个样儿来。他的四肢也都在歌唱。喝酒吧。神经绷得太紧了。为了唱歌，饮食得有节制。詹妮·林德[161] 式的汤：原汁，洋苏叶，生鸡蛋，半品脱奶油。为了浓郁的、梦幻般的歌喉。

柔情蜜意涌了上来。缓缓地，膨胀着，悸动着。就是那话儿。哈，给啦！接呀！怦怦跳动着，傲然挺立着。

歌词？音乐？不，是那背后的东西。

布卢姆缠上又松开来，结了个活扣儿，又重新解开来。

布卢姆。温吞吞、乐融融、舔光这股秘密热流，化为音乐，化为情欲，任情淌流，为了舔那淌流的东西而侵入。推倒她抚摩她拍拍她压住她。公羊。毛孔膨胀扩大。公羊。那种欢乐，那种感触，那种亲呢，那种。公羊。冲过闸门滚滚而下的激流。洪水，激流，涨潮，欢乐的激流，公羊震动。啊！爱情的语言。

希望的一线曙光，

喜气洋溢。女神莉迪亚一副淑女派头，尖声尖气地对利德维尔说着话。听不见，是由于希望的曙光被尖声压住了。

是《玛尔塔》。巧合。[162]我正要写信呢。莱昂内尔的歌。你这名字挺可爱。不能写。请笑纳我这份小小礼物。拨弄她的心弦，也拨弄钱包的丝带。她是个。我曾称你作淘气鬼。[163] 然而这个名字：玛莎。多么奇怪呀！今天。

莱昂内尔的声音又回来了，比先前减弱了，但并不疲倦。它再一次对里奇、波尔迪、莉迪亚、利德维尔歌唱，也对那边张着嘴竖起耳朵、边等着伺候顾客的帕特歌唱。他是怎样初次瞥见那绰约的身姿，悲哀是怎样似乎消失的，她的眼神、丰韵和谈吐如何使古尔德[164]和利德维尔着迷，如何赢得了帕特。布卢姆的心。

不过，我要是能瞧见他[165]的脸就好了。意思就更清楚了。这下子我明白，当我在德雷格理发店对着镜中理发师的脸说话时，他何以总要望着我的脸了。尽管离得有点儿远，在这儿还是比在酒吧间听得真切一些。

遇见你那温雅明眸……

我在特列纽亚的马特·狄龙[166]家初次见到她的那个夜晚。她身穿黑网眼的嫩黄色衣衫。音乐椅。最后只剩下我们两个。命运。我追在她后面。命运。慢慢腾腾地兜圈子。快点转吧。我们两个人。大家都看着哪。停！她坐了下来。被淘汰的面面相觑。个个咧着嘴笑着。嫩黄色的膝盖。

我的眼睛被迷惑……

歌唱着。她唱的是《等候》[167]。我替她翻乐谱。音域广阔，香气袭人。你的丁香树，什么牌的香水。我看见了胸脯，两边那么丰腴，喉咙颤抖着。当我初见，她向我道谢。她为什么……我呢？缘分。西班牙风韵的眼睛。此时此刻，在古老的马德里……多洛勒斯…”——她，多洛勒斯，在中院儿梨树下的阴影下。望着我。引诱着。啊，诱惑着。

玛尔塔！啊，玛尔塔！

莱昂内尔摆脱了心头的一切郁闷，以愈益深邃而愈益高昂的和谐音调，饱含着强有力的激情，唱起悲歌，呼唤着恋人归来。莱昂内尔那；孤独的呼唤，她是应该能理解的；玛尔塔是应该察觉到的。因为他所等待的只有她一人。在那儿？这儿， 那儿； 试试那儿，这儿；哪儿都试试看。在哪儿。在某处。

回来吧，迷失的你！

回来吧，我亲爱的你！

孤零零的，唯一的爱。唯一的希望。我唯一的慰藉。玛尔塔，胸腔共鸣[170] ，回来吧！

回来吧！

声音飞翔着，一只鸟儿，不停地飞翔，迅疾、清越的叫声。蹁跹吧，银色的球体；它安详地跳跃，迅疾地，持续地来到了。气不要拖得太长，他的底气足，能长寿。高高地翱翔，在高处闪耀，燃烧，头戴王冠，高高地在象征性的光辉中，高高地在上苍的怀抱里，高高地在浩瀚、至高无上的光芒普照中，全都飞翔着，全都环绕着万有而旋转，绵绵无绝期，无绝期，无绝期……

回到我这里！[171]

西奥波德！

耗尽了。

哦，唱得好。大家鼓掌。她应该来的。到我这儿，到他那儿，到她那儿，还有你，我，我们。

“妙哇！”啪啪啪。“真了不起，好得很，西蒙。”噼啪噼啪。“再来一个！”噼噼啪啪。很是嘹亮。“妙哇，西蒙！”噼哩啪啦。“再来一个！”再来鼓掌。本·多拉德、莉迪亚·杜丝、乔治·利德维尔、帕特、米娜[ 172] ，面前摆着两只大酒杯的绅士、考利、拥着大酒杯的第一位绅士还有褐发女侍杜丝小姐和金发女侍米娜小姐，个个不住他说啊，叫唤啊，拍手啊。

布莱泽斯·博伊兰那双款式新颖的棕黄色皮鞋橐橐地走在酒吧间地板上，这在前边已说过了。正如适才所说的，轻快双轮马车辚辚地从约翰·格雷爵士、霍雷肖·独臂纳尔逊和可敬的西奥博尔德·马修神父的雕像前驰过。马儿颠颠小跑着，热腾腾的，坐在那儿也热腾腾的。那口钟。敲响。那口钟。敲响。[173] 母马略减速度，沿着拉特兰广场圆堂旁的小丘徐徐前进。母马一颠一摇地向前踱着。对情绪亢奋的博伊兰，急不可待的博伊兰来说，真是太慢了。

考利的伴奏结束了，缭绕的余音消失在充满感兴的空气中。

里奇·古尔丁呢，就饮着他那鲍尔威士忌，利奥波德·布卢姆 呷着他的苹果酒，利德维则啜着他那吉尼斯啤酒。第二位绅士说，倘若她不介意的话，他们很想再喝上两大杯。肯尼迪小姐那珊瑚般的嘴唇对第一位和第二位绅士冷冰冰地露出装腔作势的笑容，说她并不介意。

“把你在牢里关上七天，”本·多拉德说，“光靠面包和水来过活。西蒙，那样你就会唱得像花园里的一只画眉。”

唱莱昂内尔的这个角色——西蒙笑了。鲍勃·考利神父弹琴。米娜·肯尼迪伺候着。第二位绅士会的钞。汤姆·克南大摇大摆地走了进来。莉迪亚既赞赏又博得赞赏。布卢姆唱的却是一支沉默之歌。

赞赏着。

里奇边赞赏边畅谈那个人的非凡的嗓子。他记得多年以前的一个夜晚。他永远也忘不了那个夜晚。那一次，西在内德·兰伯特家演唱《地位名声》[174]。天哪，他平生从没听到过那样的旋律。从来没听到过把“宁可分手，负心人”那句唱得那么美妙。天哪，唱“爱情既已不复存”时，歌喉是那样婉转清越。问冋兰伯特，他也会这么说。

古尔丁那张苍白的脸兴奋得泛红了。他告诉布卢姆先生说，那个夜晚西·迪达勒斯在内德·兰伯特家演唱《地位名声》。

内兄。亲戚。我们擦身而过，彼此从不过话。[175]我想，他们之间有着不和的前兆[176] 。他以轻蔑态度对待他。然而，他对他却越发仰慕。西演唱的那个夜晚。他用喉咙唱出的歌声宛如由两根纤细的丝弦奏出来的，比其他任何人都出色。

那是哀叹的声音。现在平稳一些了。只有在静寂中，你才能感受自己所听到的。震颤。而今是沉默之曲。

布卢姆把十指交叉的双手松开来，用皮肤松弛的指头拨响那细细的肠线[177] 。他将线拽长并拨响，发出嗡嗡声，然后又嘭的一声。这当儿，古尔丁谈起巴勒克拉夫[178] 的发声法。汤姆·克南按照回顾性的编排[179] ，有条不紊地向洗耳恭听着的考利神父谈着往事。神父正即兴弹奏着，边弹边点头。这当儿，身材魁梧的本·多拉德点上烟，和正抽着烟的西蒙·迪达勒斯聊了起来。他抽烟时，西蒙点着头。

失去了的你。[180]这是所有的歌的主题。布卢姆把松紧带拽得更长了。好像挺残酷的。让人们相互钟情，诱使他们越陷越深。然后再把他们拆散。死亡啦。爆炸啦。猛击头部啦。于是，就堕入地狱里去。人的生命。迪格纳穆。唔，老鼠尾巴在扭动着哪！我给了五先令。天堂里的尸体[181]。秧鸡般地咯咯叫着。肚子像是被灌了毒药的狗崽子。走掉了。他们唱歌。被遗忘了。我也如此。迟早有一天，她也。撇下她。腻烦了。她就该痛苦啦。抽抽噎噎地哭泣。那双西班牙式的大眼睛直勾勾地望空干瞪着。她那波- 浪- 状、沉- 甸- 甸的头发不曾梳理。[182]

然而幸福过了头也令人腻烦。他一个劲儿地拽那根松紧带。你在自己家里不幸福吗？它啪的一声绷回去了。

车子辚辚地驶进多尔塞特街。

杜丝小姐抽回她那裹在缎袖里的胳膊，半嗔半喜。

“别这么没深没浅的，”她说，“咱们不过是刚刚相识。”

乔治·利德维尔告诉她，这是千真万确的，然而她不相信。

第一位绅士告诉米娜，确实是这样的。她问他，真是这样的吗？第二个握着大酒杯的人告诉她是这样的。那么就是这样的。

杜丝小姐，莉迪亚小姐，不曾相信。肯尼迪小姐，米娜，不曾相信。乔治·利德维尔，不，杜小姐不曾。第一个，第一个握着大酒杯的绅；相信，不，不；不曾，肯尼小姐，莉迪莉迪亚维尔，大酒杯。[183]

还不如在这里写呢。邮政局里的鹅毛笔不是给嚼瘪了，就是弄弯了。

秃头帕特在示意下凑了过来。要钢笔和墨水。他去了。要吸墨纸本[184]。他去了。吸墨水用的本子。他听见了，耳背的帕特。

“对，”布卢姆先生边摆弄那卷曲的肠线边说，“没错儿。写上几行就行啦。我的礼物。意大利的华丽音乐都是这样的。这是谁写的呀？要是知道那名字，就能理解得更透彻一些。（若无其事地掏出信纸信封）那富于特征。”

“那是整出歌剧中最壮丽的乐章[185] ，”古尔丁说。

“确实是这样，”布卢姆说。

都是数目[186] ！想想看，所有的音乐都是如此。二乘二除二分之一等于两个一。[187] 这些是和弦，产生振动。一加二加六等于七。[188]你可以随心所欲地用这些数字变换花样。总能发现这个等于那个。墓地墙下的匀称[189]。他没注意到我的丧服。没有心肝！只关心自己的胃[190] 。冥想数学[191] 。而你还认为自己在倾听天体音乐哪。然而，倘若你这么说：玛莎，七乘九减x 等于三万五千。这就平淡无奇了。那全凭的是音。

比方说，现在他正弹着。是即兴弹奏。听到歌词之前，你还以为正是你自己心爱的曲子呢。你很想留神[192] 聆听。用心听。开头蛮好。接着就有些走调了。觉得有点儿茫然了。钻进麻袋又钻出来，跨过一只只的桶，跨越铁蒺藜，进行一场障碍竞走。时间会谱成曲调。问题在于你的心境[193]如何。总之，听音乐总是愉快的。除了女孩子们的音阶练习而外。隔壁人家，两个女学生一道。应该为她们发明一种不出声的钢琴。米莉不会欣赏音乐。奇怪的是我们两个人都……我的意思是。我为她买过《花赞》[194]。这个谱名[195] 。有个姑娘慢慢地弹奏它，当我晚上回家来的时候，那个姑娘。塞西莉亚街附近那几座马厩的门。

秃头耳背的帕特送来十分扁平[196] 的吸墨纸本和墨水。帕特将十分扁平的吸墨纸本和墨水钢笔一道撂下。帕特拿起盘子刀叉。帕特走了。

“那是唯一的语言，”迪达勒珀先生对本说。他小时候在林加贝拉，克罗斯黑文，林加贝拉[197] 听到过人们唱船歌。王后镇[ 198] 港口挤满了意大利船。喏，本，他们在月光下，头戴地震帽：[199]走来走去。歌声汇在一起。天哪，那可是了不起的音乐。本，我小时听过。穿越林加贝拉港的月夜之歌[200]。

他撂开乏味的烟斗，一只手遮拢在唇边，咕呜呜地发出月光之夜的呼唤，近听清晰，远方有回声。

布卢姆用“另一只眼睛”[201]，将卷成指挥棒形的《自由人报）浏览到下端，想查明那是在儿见到的。卡伦、科尔曼、迪格纳穆·帕特里克。嗨嗬！嗨嗬！福西特。哎呀！我要找的就是这个。

但愿他[202]没望见，机敏得像耗子一般。他把《自由人报》打开，竖起，这下子就瞅不见了。记住要写希腊字母“E”[203]。布卢姆蘸了墨水。布卢姆嘟嚷道：“台端。”亲爱的亨利写道：“亲爱的玛迪[204]收到了你的信和花。”见鬼，我把它放在哪儿啦？哪个兜儿里哪。“今天完全不可能。”要在“不可能”下面画个杠杠。“写信。”

这可为难了。面有难色的布卢姆把帕特送来的扁平吸墨纸本当作手鼓似的轻敲着，刀。指头就表示“我正在考虑着”。

写下去。“懂事的意思吧。”不，把那个E换掉。“奉上薄礼，请哂纳。”另要求她写回信。等一下。给了迪格纳穆五先令。在这家店约莫要花上两先令。在海鸥身上花了一便士。以利亚来啦。在戴维。伯恩的酒吧开销了七便士。总计八先令左右。给半克朗吧。“奉上薄礼：价值两先令六便士的邮政汇票。”请给我写一封长信……你不屑于吗？辚辚，难道你长了那个吗？真是兴奋呀。你为什么叫我淘气鬼？你不也是个淘气鬼吗？哦，玛丽亚丢了带子。[206]今天就写到这里为止，再见。是的，是的，会告诉你的。想要。才能不让它脱落。请告诉我那另一个[207]。她写道：那另一个世界。我的耐心耗尽。才能不让它脱落。你一定要相信。相信。大酒杯。那- 是- 真的。

我写的是些蠢话吗？丈夫们不会这么写的。结了婚，有了老婆，就得那样。因为我不在。倘若。可是，怎样能做到呢？她必须，保持青春。倘若她发现了夹在我那顶礼帽里的卡片。不，我才不一古脑儿告诉她呢。无益的痛苦。只要她们没撞上。女人们。半斤八两[208]。

家住多尼布鲁克一哈莫尼大街一号的车夫詹姆斯．巴顿所赶的第三百二十四号出租马车上，坐着一位乘客——一位年轻绅士。他那套款式新颖的靛蓝色哔叽衣服是住在伊登码头区五号的缝纫兼剪裁师乔治·罗伯特·梅西雅斯[209] 做的；头上戴的那顶极其时髦漂亮的草帽子是从大布伦斯维克街一号的帽商约翰·普拉斯托那儿买的。呃？这就是那辆轻轻颠摇着辚辚前进的轻快二轮马车。母马扭动着壮实的屁股，从德鲁加茨猪肉店和阿根达珀公司那锃亮的金属管子旁边驰过。

“是为广告的事写回信吗？”里奇目光锐利地问布卢姆。

“是的，”布卢姆先生说，“是给市内的旅行推销员，我估计搞不出什么名堂来。”

布卢姆嘟哝着：“提供的线索倒都是最好的。[210]”然而亨利却写道：“这会使我兴奋。你晓得个中情况。匆致。亨利。”写希腊字母“E”。最好加个附言。他在弹什么哪？即兴的间奏曲。附言：啷当当。你要怎样来惩罚我？你要惩罚我？[211] 歪歪拧拧的裙子在摇来摆去，嘭嘭。[212] 告诉我，……我想知道。[213]噢，当然喽，假若我不想知道的话，也就不会问了。“拉、拉、拉、来。”进入小调就悲怆地消失了。小调为什么就悲怆呢？签上“H”。女人们都喜欢来个悲怆的结尾。再加个附言：“拉、拉、拉、来。今天我感到那么悲伤。拉、来。那么孤寂。亲[214] 。”

他赶紧用帕特的吸墨纸吸了一下。信封。地址。从报纸上抄一个就是了。他嘴里念念有词：“卡伦- 科尔曼股份有限公司台启。”亨利却写道：

都柏林市

海豚仓巷邮政局收转

玛莎·克利弗德小姐

用已经印有字迹的部分来吸，这样他[215]就认不出了。就这样。蛮好。这可以做《珍闻》悬赏小说的主题。某位侦探从吸墨纸上读到了什么。稿费每栏一基尼。马查姆经常想起……大笑着的魔女[216] 可怜的普里福伊太太。万事休矣。完蛋。[217]

用“悲怆”一词；未免太富有诗意了。这是音乐使然。莎士比亚说过：音乐有一种魔力。[218] 一年到头每天都在引用的名句。生存还是毁灭，这是一个值得考虑的问题。[219] 智慧出自等待。

他在杰勒德那座位于费特小巷的玫瑰花圃里散步，赤褐色的头发已灰白了。人生只有一次，肉体只有一具。干吧。专心致志地干。[220]

反正已经干完啦。邮政汇票，邮票。邮政局还在前面哪。这次走去吧。时间还来得及。我答应在巴尼·基尔南的酒店跟他们见面的；这可不是什么愉快的差事。办丧事的家[221] 。走呀。帕特！听不见。这家伙是个耳聋的笨蛋。

马车快到那儿了。聊聊吧。聊聊吧。“帕特！”听不见。在折叠那些餐巾哪。他每天准得走一大片地。要是在他的后脑勺上画张脸，他就成两个人了。但愿他们再唱些歌儿，我也好排遣一下。

面有难色的秃头帕特将一条条餐巾都折叠成主教冠的形状。帕特是个耳背的茶房。当你等候着时，帕特这位茶房服侍你。嘻嘻嘻嘻。你等候时，他服侍。嘻嘻。他是个茶房。嘻嘻嘻嘻。他服侍，而你在等候。当你等候时，倘若你等候着，他就服侍，在你等候的当儿。嘻嘻嘻嘻。嗬。你等候时，他服侍。[222]

这会子，杜丝。杜丝·莉迪亚。褐发与玫瑰。

她的假日过得好极啦，简直好极啦。瞧瞧她带回来的这枚可爱的贝壳。

她轻悄悄地将那尖而弯曲的海螺拿到酒吧间另一头，好让他——律师乔治·利德维尔，能够听见。

“听啊！”她怂恿他。

随着汤姆·克南那被杜松子酒醺热了的词句，伴奏者缓慢地编织着音乐。确凿的事实。沃尔特·巴普蒂[223] 的嗓子是怎样失灵的。喏，先生，那个做丈夫的一把卡住了他的喉咙。“恶棍，”他说，“再也不让你唱情歌啦。”果不其然，汤姆先生。鲍勃·考利编织着。男高音歌手把女人弄到手。考利把身子往后一仰；

啊，现在他听见了，她捧起海螺对准他的耳朵。听哪！他倾听着。真精彩。她又把它对着自己的耳朵。借着那透过来的光线，淡金色的头发一晃而过，形成对照。听一听。

笃，笃。

布卢姆隔着酒吧间的门，瞥见她们将一枚海螺对准自己的耳朵。他微微听到：她们先是各自、接着又替对方听见了波浪的迸溅，喧噪，以及深沉的海啸。

褐发女侍挨着金发女侍，从近处，从远处，她们聆听着。

她的耳朵也是一枚贝壳，有着耳垂。曾经去过一趟海滨。海滨那些俏丽的姑娘。[224] 皮肤被太阳晒得辣辣作痛。应该先擦点冷霜晒成棕色就好了。涂了奶油的烤面包片。哦，可别忘了那化妆水。她嘴角上长了疱疹。简直让你晕头转向。[225] 头发梳成辫子。贝壳上缠着海藻。她们为什么要用海藻般的头发遮住耳朵呢？而土耳其妇女甚至还遮住嘴。为什么？她那双眼睛露在布巾上面。面纱。找入口。那是个洞穴。闲人免进。

她们自以为能听到海的声音。歌唱着。咆哮。这是血液的声音。有时淌进耳腔。喏，那是海洋。血球群岛。

真了不起。那么清晰。又冲过来了。乔治·利德维尔边听边捕捉着它那低诉，随听随将它轻轻地撂开。

“你说那惊涛骇浪在说着什么？[226]”他笑吟吟地问她。。

娇媚，面上泛着海洋般的微笑，莉迪亚却不回答。她只对利德维尔微笑着。

笃，笃

从拉里·奥罗克那爿酒店旁边，从拉里，果敢的拉里·奥旁边，博伊兰颠簸着走过，博伊兰拐了个弯。

米娜从那被抛弃的海螺旁边翩然来到正等待着她的那大酒杯跟前。不，她并不怎么寂寞，杜丝小姐的头昂然地告诉利德维尔先生。月光下在海滨散步。不，不是一个人。跟谁一道呀？她气势轩昂地回答说：跟一位绅士朋友。

鲍勃·考利那疾迅动着的手指又在高音部弹奏起来了。“房东有优先权。”“只消宽限几天。”[227] 高个子约翰。“大本钟”[228]。他轻轻地弹奏一支轻松明快清脆的调子，为了脚步轻快、调皮而笑容可掬的淑女们，也为了他们的情郎——绅士朋友们。一。一、一、一、一、一、二、一、三、四。

海，风，树叶，雷、河水、哞哞叫的母牛，牲畜市场，公鸡，母鸡不打鸣儿，蛇发出嘶嘶声。世上处处都有音乐。拉特利奇的门吱吱响。不，那只是噪音。他现在正弹着《唐璜》的小步舞曲。在城堡那一间间大厅里翩翩起舞的宫廷那五颜六色的服饰，外面却是悲惨的庄稼人，他们饥肠辘辘，面带菜色，吃的是酸模叶子。多好看。瞧，瞧，瞧，瞧，瞧，瞧。你们朝我们瞧。

我能感觉到那是欢乐的。从来不曾把它写成个曲子。为什么呢？我的欢乐是另一种欢乐。不过，两种都是欢乐。是啊，那无疑是欢乐。单从音乐这一事实来考虑，也能明白这一点。我常常以为她[229]情绪低落，可她又欢唱起来了。这下子我才恍然大悟。

麦科伊的手提箱。我太太和你大太[230]。喵喵叫的猫声。如裂帛。她说起话来舌头就像风箱的响板似的。她们无法掌握男人的音程[ 231] 。她们自己的声音也有漏气的时候。把我填满了吧。我是热乎乎、黑洞洞而且敞着口的。摩莉唱着《什么人……》[232] 梅尔卡丹特[233]。我把耳朵贴在墙上听。要的是一位能孚众望的女性。

马儿缓步前进，颠簸，轻摇，停住。花花公子博伊兰那棕黄色的鞋、短袜、跟部绣着天蓝色花纹，轻盈地踏在地面上。

噢，瞧咱们这副打扮！室内音乐。可以编个双关的俏皮话。当她那个的时候，我常想起这种音乐。那是声学。丁零零。空的容器发出的响声最大。因为从声学上来说，共鸣就像水压相等于液体下降的法则那样起变化的。正如李斯特所作的那些狂想曲。匈牙利味儿，吉卜赛女人的眼睛。珍珠。水滴。雨。快快摇啊，混作一团，一大堆啊，嘘嘘嘘嘘。现在。多半是现在。要么就更早一些。[234]

有人笃笃敲门，有人砰砰拍。他，保罗·德·科克[235] 拍了。用响亮、高傲的门环，喀呵、咔啦咔啦咔啦、喀呵。喀呵喀呵。[236]

敲。笃，笃。

“唱‘这里，愤怒’[237] 吧。”考利神父说。

“不，本，”汤姆·克南插嘴说，“来《推平头的小伙子》，用咱们爱尔兰土腔。”

“啊，本，还是唱吧，”迪达勒斯先生说，“地道的好男儿。[238]”

“唱吧，唱吧，”他们齐声央求着。

我该走啦。喂，帕特，再过来一次。来呀。他来了，他来了。他走过去了。到我这儿来。多少钱？

“什么调？是六个升号吗？

“升F大调，”本·多拉德说。

鲍勃·考利那双摊开来的利爪抓住了低音的黑键。

布卢姆对里奇说，他该走了。不，里奇说。不，非走不可。不知打哪儿弄到了一笔钱。打算纵酒取乐，一直闹到脊背都疼了。多少钱？他听人说话，总是靠观察嘴唇的动作。一先令九便士。其中一便士是给你的。放在这儿啦。给他两便士小费。耳聋，面带困惑神情。然而他的老婆和一家人也许在等候，等候[239]帕特回家来。嘿嘿嘿嘿。一家人等候的当儿，聋子伺候着。

然而等一下。然而听哪。阴暗的和弦。阴- 郁- 的。低低的。在地底下黑暗的洞穴里。埋着的矿砂。大量的音乐。

黑暗时代的声音，无情的声音，大地的疲惫，使得坟墓接近，带来痛苦。那声音来自远方，来自苍白的群山，呼唤善良、地道的人们。

他要找神父。要跟神父说一句话。[240]

笃笃。

本·多拉德的嗓门。低沉的桶音。[241] 使出他浑身的解数来唱。 男人、月亮和女人都没有的辽阔沼泽地，一片蛙叫声。 另一个失落者。 他一度做过海船的船具零售商。还记得那些涂了树脂的绳索和船上的提灯吧。亏空了一万镑。如今住在艾弗救济院[ 242] 里。一间斗室，多少多少号。都怪巴斯厂生产的头号啤酒，把他害到这地步。

神父在家里。一个冒牌神父的仆役把他迎了进去。请进。圣洁的神父。奸细仆役深打一躬。[243] 和弦那缭绕的尾音。

毁了他们。使他们倾家荡产。然后给他们盖点子斗室，让他们在那里了此一生。睡吧，乖乖。唱支摇篮曲。死吧，狗儿。小狗崽，死吧。

警告声，严峻的警告声告诉他们：那个小伙子已走进那间阒然无人的大厅，告诉他们他的脚步声如何庄重地在那儿响着，向他们描述那间昏暗的屋子和那位身着长袍、坐在那里听取忏悔的神父。[244]

正派人。[245] 眼下有几分醉意。他自以为能在诗人画谜活动的《答案》[246]中获奖。我们奉送你一张崭新的五镑纸币。“抱窝的鸟儿。”他认为答案是《最末一个游吟诗人之歌》[247]。“C空白T”，打一只家畜[248]。“T波折号R”是最勇敢的水手。[249] 他依然有副好嗓

子。既然拥有这一切，正说明他还不是个阉人。

听哪。布卢姆在听。里奇·古尔丁在听。而门口，耳聋的帕特，秃头的帕特，拿到了小费的帕特也在听着。

和弦变得缓慢一些了。

忏悔与悲伤的声音徐徐传来，这是被美化了的、发颤的声音。本那副悔悟的胡子做着告解。因天主之名，因天主之名。他跪了下来。用手捶胸，忏悔着：“我的罪过。”[250]

又是拉丁文。那就像粘鸟胶一样鳔住人们。神父手里拿着赐给妇女们的圣体。停尸所里的那个家伙。棺材或者科菲[251] ，因尸体之名。[252] 那只老鼠如今在哪儿哪？嘎吱嘎吱。

笃笃。

他们倾听着。“大酒杯”们和肯尼迪小姐。眼睑富于表情的乔治·利德维尔。乳房丰满的缎子[253] 。克南。西[254] 。

哀伤的声音叹息着唱了起来。罪过。复活节以来他曾诅咒过三次。[ 255] 你这婊子养的杂种！[256] 有一次举行弥撤的时候，他却游荡去了。有一次他路过坟地，却不曾为亡母的安息而祈求冥福。一个小伙子。一个推平头的小伙子。

正在啤酒泵旁边倾听的褐发女侍定睛望着远方。全神贯注地。她一点也料不到我正在瞧着她呢。摩莉最有本事发觉瞅自己的人了。

金发女侍斜睨着远处。那儿有一面镜子。那是她最俊俏的半边脸蛋儿吗？她们总是知道的。有人敲门。最后再找补一下。

喀呵咔啦咔啦。

听音乐的时候，她们都想些什么呢？捕追响尾蛇的方法。那天晚上，迈克尔·冈恩[257]让我们坐在包厢里。乐队开始对音。波斯王[258] 最喜欢这支曲子了。 使他联想到《家，可爱的家》[259] 。他还曾用帷幕揩鼻涕。也许是他那个民族的习惯。那也是一种音乐。并不像说得那样糟糕。呜——呜——。铜管乐器朝上的管子发出驴叫般的声音。低音提琴的侧面有着深长的切口[260] ，奄奄一息。木管乐器[261] 像母牛似的哞哞叫。掀起盖子的小三角钢琴有如张着上下颚的鳄鱼，音乐就从那里发出。木管乐器这个名字像是古德温[ 262] 这个姓。

她看上去蛮漂亮。桔黄色的上衣，领子开得低低的，袒露着胸部。当她在剧场里弯下身去问什么的时候，总是发散出一股丁香气味。我把可怜的爸爸那本书里所引的斯宾诺莎[263]那段话，讲给她听了。她仔细听着，就像被催眠了似的。 就是那样的眼神。弯着身子。二楼包厢一个家伙拼命用小望远镜盯着她。音乐的美你得听两次才能领略到。对大自然和女人，只消瞥上半眼。天主创造了田园。人类创造了曲调。[264] 遇见了他尖头胶皮管。[265] 哲学。哦，别转文啦！[266]

全都完啦。全都倒下啦。他的父亲死在罗斯包围战[267] 中，他的哥哥们都是在戈雷倒下的。到韦克斯福德去。我们是韦克斯福德的小伙子，他非去不可。他是这个姓氏和家族中最后的一个。

我也一样，是我这个家族的最后一个。米莉，年轻学生。喏，也许怪我。没有儿子。鲁迪。如今已太迟了。哦，要是不太迟呢？要是不呢？要是还成呢？

他没有怨恨。[268]

恨。爱。那些不过是名词而已。鲁迪。我快要老了。

“大本钟”放开了嗓门。里奇·古尔丁那苍白的脸上好不容易泛出了一片红晕，对快要老了的布卢姆说：了不起的嗓子。然而，什么时候又年轻过呢？

爱尔兰的时代到来了。我的国家在国王之上[269] 。她倾听着。谁害怕谈到一九0四年?[270]该开溜啦。看够了。

“祝福我，爸爸，”推平头的小伙子多拉德大声嚷道，“祝福我，让我去吧。”[271]

笃笃。

布卢姆窥伺着不等祝福就溜掉的机会，着意打扮起来，好把人迷住。周薪十八先令。掏腰包的一向是男人们。你时刻可得留神着。那些姑娘， 那些俏丽的[271] 。挨着令人伤感的海浪[273] 。歌剧合唱队女队员的风流韵事。为了证实毁约而在法庭上宣读信件。鸡宝宝的意中人。法庭上哄堂大笑。亨利。我从来没有在那上面签过名。你这个名字有多么可爱。[274]

音乐的曲调和唱词都变得低沉了，随后又转快。冒牌神父窸窸窣窣地脱掉长袍，露出戎装。义勇骑兵队队长。他们全都背下来了。他们所渴望的那阵狂喜。义勇骑兵队队长。

笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。

她激动地倾听着，探出身子去听，起着共鸣。

脸上毫无表情。该是个处女吧。要么就只是用手指摸过。在上面写点什么：页数。不然的话，她们会怎样呢？衰弱。绝望。让她们青春常在。甚至自我赞赏。瞧吧。在她身上弹奏。用嘴唇来吹。白皙的女人身子，一支活生生的笛子。轻轻地吹。大声地吹。所有的女人都有三个眼儿。那位女神怎样，我没瞧见。 她们要的就是这个。不宜对她们太客气。也正因为这样，他[275] 才能把她们搞到手。 兜里揣着金子，脸皮[276] 要厚。说点儿什么。让她听着。眉来眼去。无词歌[277] 。摩莉和那个年轻的轮擦提琴[278] 手。当他说猴子病了，她晓得他指的是什么。 或许由于那和西班牙语很接近。照这样，对动物也能有所理解。所罗门就理解[279] 。这是天赋的能力。

用腹语术讲话。我的嘴唇是闭着的。在肚子里思考。想些什么呢？

怎么样？你呢？我。要。你。去。

队长粗暴、嘎声愤怒地咒骂着：你这长了肿瘤、中了风、婊子养的杂种。小伙子，你来得好。你还有一个钟头好活，你最后的。[280]

笃笃。笃笃。

此刻心里怦怦地跳着。她们觉得可怜。要揩拭那渴望为死去的殉难者而流下的一滴眼泪。为所有即将死去者，为所有出生者。可怜的普里福伊太太。但愿她已分娩。因为她们的子宫。

用女人那子宫的液体润湿了的眼球，在睫毛的篱笆下安详地注视着， 聆听着。当她不说话的时候，眼睛才显出真正的美。在那边的河上。[281] 每逢裹在缎衣里的酥胸波浪般缓缓地起伏（她那一起一伏的丰腴魅力[282] ），红玫瑰也徐徐升起，红玫瑰又徐徐落下。随着呼吸，她的心脏悸动着。呼吸就是生命。 处女发[283] 所有那些细小、细小的纤叶都颤动着。

可是，瞧！灿烂的星辰褪了色。哦。玫瑰！卡斯蒂莉亚。破晓。[284]

哈。利德维尔。那么，为的是他呀，不是为……[285] 迷上了。我是那个样儿吗？不过，从这儿望望她吧。砰的一声拔掉的瓶塞，迸溅出来的啤酒泡沫儿， 堆积如山的空瓶子。

莉迪亚那丰满的手轻轻地搭在啤酒泵突出来的光滑挺棍上。交给我吧。她完全沉浸在对推平头的那个少年的怜悯中。后，前；前，后。在打磨得锃亮的球形捏手（她晓得他的眼睛、我的眼睛、她的眼睛）上，怀着怜悯搬动着她的大拇指和食指。搬动一下又停下来，文雅地摸了摸，然后极其柔和地顺着那冰冷、坚硬的白色珐琅

质挺棍慢慢滑下去。挺棍从两根手指形成的光滑的环里突了出来。

喀呵的一声，咔啦的一声。

笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。

我保有这座房子。啊们。他气得咬牙切齿。叛徒们将被绞死。[286]

和弦随声附和了。非常悲戚。然而无可奈何。

别等完就走吧。谢谢，真是不同凡响啊。我的帽子在哪儿？ 从她身边走过去。可以把那张《自由人报》撂下。信我带着哪。倘若她对我……[287]？ 不会的。步行，步行，步行。像卡什尔·博伊罗·康诺罗·科伊罗·蒂斯代尔·莫里斯·蒂逊代尔·法雷尔。[288] 步——行。

喏，我得走了。你要走了吗？嗯，得告辞啦。布卢姆站了起来。裸麦上空高且蓝[289] 。噢。布卢姆站了起来。屁股后边那块肥皂怪黏糊糊的。准是出汗了。音乐。可别忘记那化妆水。那么，再见。高级帽子。里面夹着卡片。对。

布卢姆从站在门口紧张地竖起耳朵的聋子帕特身边走过去。

小伙子在日内瓦兵营丧命。他的遗体葬在帕塞吉[290] 。悲伤！哦，他感到悲伤！[291] 哀恸的领唱人的声音向哀伤的祷告者呼唤。

从玫瑰花、裹在缎衣里的酥胸、爱抚的手、溢出的酒、以及砰的一声崩掉的塞子旁边，布卢姆一面致意一面走过去，经过一双双眼睛， 经过海绿色荫影下的褐色和淡金色的处女发。温柔的布卢姆，我感到很孤寂的布卢姆。

笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。

多拉德用男低音祷告道：为他祈祷吧。你们这些在平安中聆听的人们。低声祈祷，抹一滴泪，善良的男人，善良的人们。他生前是个推平头的小伙子。[292]

布卢姆把正在那儿偷听的擦鞋侍役——推平头的擦鞋小伙子吓了一跳。他在奥蒙德的门厅里听见叫嚷和喝采的声音和用胖嘟嘟的手拍着脊背的响声以及用靴子跺地板的声音——是靴子，而不是擦鞋侍役。大家异口同声地喊着要狂饮一通。亏得我逃脱了。

“喂，本，来吧，”西蒙·迪达勒斯大声说，“千真万确，你唱得跟过去一样好。”

“更好哩，”正喝着杜松子酒的汤姆·克南说，“我敢担保，再也没有人能把这民歌唱得如此淋漓尽致的了。”

“拉布拉凯”[293]，”考利神父说。

本·多拉德像是跳卡丘查舞[294]似的迈着沉重的步子，将他那庞大身躯移向酒吧。盛赞之下，他喜气洋洋，患痛风症的手指仿佛击响板[295]一般，望空摆动着，打出种种节奏。

大本钟本·多拉德。大本本。大本本。[296]

噜噜噜。[297]

大家深为感动。西蒙从他那宛如雾中警号筒的鼻子里哼出表示共鸣的声音，人们朗笑着，把情绪极高的本·多拉德簇拥过来。

“你看上去红光满面，”乔治·利德维尔说。

杜丝小姐先整了整玫瑰花，再来服侍他们。

“我心中的山峰，[298]”迪达勒斯先生拍了拍本那肥厚的后肩胛骨说，“很结实，[299]不过身上藏的脂肪太多了点儿。”

噜噜噜噜噜——嘶——。

“致命的脂肪啊，西蒙，”本·多拉德瓮声瓮气他说。

里奇独自坐在不和的前兆[300]中。古尔丁一科利斯一沃德。他犹豫不决地等在那儿。没有拿到钱的帕特也在等着。

笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。

米娜·肯尼迪小姐将嘴唇凑到一号“大酒杯”的耳边。

“多拉德先生，”那嘴唇小声咕卿着。

“多拉德，”“大酒杯”咕卿着。

当肯尼迪小姐说那是多拉的时候，一号“大酒杯”相信了。她、多拉。“大酒杯”。

他喃喃地说，他晓得这个名字。那就是说，他对这个名字很熟悉。也即是说，他听说过这个名字。是多拉德吗？多拉德，对。

是的，她的嘴唇说得大声一些：多拉德先生。米娜喃喃他说，那首歌，他——多拉德先生唱得很可爱。而《夏日最后的玫瑰》是一支可爱的歌。米娜爱这支歌。“大酒杯”爱米娜所爱的歌。

那是多拉德撇下的夏日最后的玫瑰。布卢姆感到肠气在腹中回旋。

苹果酒净是气体，还会引起便秘。等一等。吕便·杰家附近的那家邮局。交一先令八便士。把这档子事解决了吧。为了避人耳目，沿着希腊街绕过去。我要是没跟他约会就好了。在户外更自由自在。音乐。刺激你的神经。啤酒泵。她那只推摇篮的手支配着。霍斯山。支配着世界。[301]

遥远。遥远。遥远。遥远。

笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。

莱昂内尔·利奥波德[302]沿着码头朝上游走去，淘气的亨利揣着写给玛迪的信。波尔迪往前走去，拿着《偷情的快乐》，其中提到为了拉乌尔的那条镶有榴边的裙子[303]，还想着“遇见了他尖头胶皮管[304]。

笃笃的盲人，笃笃地敲着走，笃笃地一路敲着边石，笃笃又笃笃。

考利给弄得发晕了。像是喝醉了。男人摆弄姑娘[305]，不如适可而止。比方说，那些狂热的听众。全身都是耳朵。连三十二分音符都不肯听漏。双目紧闭。随着节拍不时点着头。神魂颠倒了。你一动也不敢动。切不可思考。三句话不离本行。扯来扯去是关于音调的无聊话。

全都是在试着找个话题。一中断就会引起不快，因为你很难说。加德纳大街上的那架风琴。老格林每年有五十英镑的进项[306]。他好古怪，独自住在那小阁楼里，又是音栓，又是制音器，又是琴键。成天坐在管风琴跟前。[307]一连唠叨[308]上几个钟头，不是自言自语，就是跟那个替他拉风箱[309]的人说话。忽而低声怒吼，忽而尖声咒骂（他要塞进点儿什么，她大声说：不行[310]）。接着，突然轻轻地释放出很小很小的噼的一股气。

噼！很小的噼咿咿的一股气。在布卢姆的小不点儿里。

“是他吗？”迪达勒斯先生取回烟斗说，“今天早晨我跟他在一起来着，在可怜的小帕狄·迪格纳穆的……”

“哎，愿天主降仁慈于他。”

“顺便提一下，那上头有个音叉……”

笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。

“他的老婆有副金嗓子。也许应该说是曾经有过。对吧？”利德维尔问。

“哦，那准是调音师忘掉的，”莉迪亚对头一个看到[311] 音叉的西蒙·莱昂纳尔说，“他刚才到这儿来过。”

她告诉第二个看到音叉的乔治·利德维尔说，那是个盲人。弹得非常精彩，听来很有味道。灿烂的对照：褐发女莉迪亚，米娜金发女。

“大声喊啊！”本·多拉德嚷道，“唱出声来！”

“我来！”考利神父大声说。

噜噜噜噜噜噜。

我觉得我想要……

笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。

“非常想要，”迪达勒斯先生直勾勾地盯着一只没有头的沙丁鱼说。

在钟形三明治容器下面，在面包搭成的尸架上，停放着夏日最后的一条沙丁鱼，最后的，孤零零的。布卢姆孤零零地[312] 。

“好得很，”他盯着，“尤其是低音区。”

笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。笃笃。

布卢姆贴着巴里服装公司踱去。但愿我能够。等一等。我要是能把那个创造奇迹的人搞到手。这所房子里有二十四个律师。我点过数。诉讼。你们要彼此相爱。[313] 一摞摞的羊皮纸文件。皮克一波克特[314] 法律事务所拥有代理权。古尔丁一科利斯一沃德法律事务所。

然而，就拿那个击大鼓的汉子来说吧。他的职业是：米基·鲁尼乐队。奇怪，起初他是怎么想到干这一行的呢？坐在家里，吃罢猪头肉和包心菜，就坐在扶手椅上，抱着那只鼓，排练起他本人在乐队里演奏的那部分。嘭。嘭噼嘀。老婆听了倒挺开心。驴皮。驴子一辈子挨鞭子抽，死了之后继续挨猛打[315] 。嘭。猛打。这好像是那希麦克[316] ，不，我的意思是基斯麦特[317] 。命运。

笃笃。笃笃。一个双目失明的青年用手杖笃笃地跺路，笃笃、笃笃、笃笃地经过达利的橱窗。那儿有个人鱼，头发整个儿飘动着（不过他瞧不见），噗噗地抽着人鱼的烟（瞎了，瞧不见），沁凉无比的人鱼的烟。

乐器。一片草叶，她双手合十作贝壳状，然后就吹奏。甚至用一把梳子和一张薄绉纸，也能吹出个曲调来。住在西伦巴德街的时候，摩莉穿着衬裙[318] ，披散着头发。我想，各行各业都有自身独特的音乐，你明白吧？猎户有号角。豁！你有角吗？敲响那口钟！[319] 牧羊人有他的笛子。噼，小小的，一丁点儿。警察有哨子。“修理锁和钥匙哇！”“扫烟囱咧！”“四点钟，一切正常，睡觉吧！”现在一切都失去啦。[320] 大鼓吗？嘭噼嘀。等一等。我晓得。还有发布员[321] 。小官吏。高个儿约翰。把死者唤醒。嘭。迪格纳穆。可怜小小的因主之名[322] 。嘭。那是音乐。当然，我的意思是这一切都是嘭嘭嘭，很像所谓从头[323] 。你依然可以听到。当我们行进时，我们一路走去，一路走去。嘭。

实在憋不住了。呋呋呋。可是如果在宴会上放了呢？这纯粹是个风俗习惯问题，例如波斯王[324] 。念一声祷文，抹一滴眼泪[355] 。然而，他想必是生来有点傻[326] ，竟没有看出那是个义勇骑兵队队长。整个儿遮起来了。坟地上那个身穿棕色胶布雨衣的到底是什么人呢？哎呀，小巷里的妓女来啦！

一个歪戴着黑色水手草帽、邋里邋遢的妓女，大白天就两眼无神地沿着码头朝布卢姆先生踱了过来。当他初见那绰约的身姿时[327] 。对，可不就是她嘛。我真是感到孤寂。雨夜在小巷子里。角。谁有呢？他有，她瞧见了。这里不是她的地盘。她是什么人？她多半是。您哪，有没有衣服让我洗呢？她认识摩莉。把我甩掉了。一位身穿棕色衣衫、富富态态的女人跟你在一起。弄得你张皇失措。我们约会了，尽管晓得那是永远也不可能，简直是不可能的。[328] 代价太高，离家，可爱的家又太近。她瞧着我吗？白天看上去是个丑八怪。脸像是在水里泡过。讨厌死啦。喔，可是，她也得像旁人那样活下去呀。瞧瞧这儿吧。

在莱昂内尔·马克古董店橱窗里，是高傲的亨利·莱昂内尔·利奥波德，亲爱的亨利·弗罗尔。 利奥波德·布卢姆先生认真地审视着残旧的烛台和那一个个鼓着状似蛆虫般的吹奏袋的谐音手风琴。大贱卖：六先令。不妨买下来学着拉拉。 倒不贵。让她走过去吧。当然喽， 凡是用不着的东西，你都会觉得贵。高明的售货员正好一显身手。他想卖什么， 就让你去买什么。有个家伙用瑞典制造的刀片替我刮了脸，然后我就买下了。他甚至向我讨刮脸费。现在她走过去了。六先令。

想必是苹果酒的关系，要么兴许是那杯勃艮第。

从近处，在褐发女旁；从远处，在金发女旁；在褐发女侍莉迪亚那朵诱人的夏日最后的玫瑰，卡斯蒂利亚的玫瑰跟前，他们一个个目光灼灼，大献殷勤，丁零当啷地碰着杯。首先是利德，随后是迪、考、克，第五个是多拉。利德维尔、西·迪达勒斯、鲍勃·考利、克南和大个儿本·多拉德。

笃笃。一个青年走进了阒无一人的奥蒙德的门厅。[329]

布卢姆端详着挂在莱昂内尔·马克橱窗里的那幅豪迈的英雄肖像。罗伯特·埃米特最后的话。最后七句话。引自迈那贝尔的作品。[330]

“诸位地道的男子汉。”

“好哇，好哇，本。”

“咱们一道举杯吧。”、

他们举起杯来。

哧吣喀、哧冲喀。[331]

笃笃。一个双目失明的青年站在门口。他没瞧褐发女，也没瞧金发女，更没瞧本、鲍勃、汤姆、西、乔治、“大酒杯”、里奇、帕特。嘻嘻嘻嘻。他都没有瞧。

腻腻的布卢姆，油腻腻的布卢姆悄悄地读着那最后几句话。当我的祖国在世界各国之间。

噗。

准是那杯勃艮第在作怪。

呋！噢。噜噜。

占有了一席之地。背后一个人也没有。她已经走过去了。直到那时。只有到了那时。电车喀啷喀啷喀啷。好机会。来了。喀啷得喀啷喀啷。我敢说是那杯勃艮第。是的。一、二。方为我写下。喀啦啊啊啊啊啊啊。墓志铭。我的话。

噗噜噜噜噜呋。

完了。 [332]