#these are gentleman hounds they wear pants

[canisalbus]

Hello! It's the "bagel cream cheese side down" anon. I showed my mother some happier art of Machete (+ Vasco) and she was very pleased to see he's not always frowning like he dropped his brunch and said that Vasco reminded her of a little porcelain loppy eared dog her nan had given her as a child saying it would protect her from evil fairies. I asked if she thought it was odd to draw animals like people and her response was "well at least they're wearing pants and not with their gentleman bitties all out".

.

[bigoltrashpile]

I don't know if it's only one request per person, but I thought of a spicier yandere request. I would love to read about yan Scar learning that his s/o is a secretly kinky virgin, could be consensual or dub/non-con. If not, or you've already written something similar, then no big deal

Of COURSE you can send more than one ask!!! Especially when it's this good~ >:3c Anyway minors STAY TF AWAY PLEASE

Scar was getting on your nerves. Which was an odd way to think about your captor, but it was accurate. If you didn't know any better, you would think that he was a perfect and caring boyfriend. Unfortunately, he wasn't your boyfriend, he had taken you from your home almost a month ago. You had been terrified at first, but Scar had been a perfect gentleman for that whole time.

He had given you everything you had asked for (except freedom), made you delicious meals, and even had romantic "at home dates", as he called them. The only thing you needed was a bit of privacy.

Scar spent as much time with you as he possibly could. The first day, when he had announced that he was off to work, you thought you might have a chance to escape. Unfortunately, his brother Hound had showed up to keep an eye on you. He didn't do much more than laze around on the couch, but you knew he could easily stop you if you tried anything.

That was all fine, until you started to feel...needy.

With the two of them always around, you barely had any time to yourself, and no time at all to soothe the heat in your loins. It didn't help that occasionally, Scar would give you these hungry looks, or you would look at his sharp teeth a bit too long. One day, he had even rested his hand on your inner thigh while you were watching a movie. There was no way in hell you were going to ask Scar to help you out, so you had resigned yourself to your horny, captive fate.

Until finally, you had the house to yourself. "I WILL BE GONE FOR A FEW MINUTES," Scar announced one evening. "I ORDERED TAKEOUT FOR OUR DATE TONIGHT, SO I MUST PICK IT UP."

You sighed. Your "dates" were nice and all, but you don't know why he bothered. It's not like you could go out with anyone else. "Great. Is Hound coming over then?"

"NO." Huh? "HE IS BUSY AT THE MOMENT, AND I WILL ONLY BE GONE A MOMENT. I TRUST YOU WON'T TRY ANYTHING." His demand was punctuated by a dangerous flash of purple in his eye.

You gulped nervously. "O-of course not."

"GOOD. THEN I SHALL BE BACK SOON." And suddenly, he was gone.

You were...alone.

Oh fuck yeah.

Instantly, you dashed up to your shared room. You had maybe five minutes, so you had to make it count. You shucked your pants off and began to rub yourself furiously. Earlier that day, Scar had been especially mean, purring with half lidded eyes when he'd seen you were wearing a tank top. It wasn't your fault, he kept the house warm! Those dangerous, hungry eyes had woken something in you, and you hadn't been able to get rid of the memory all day.

You had barely started to finger yourself when the door swung open. A shriek tore from your throat. "S-scar? What are you doing back?" you yelped.

A low chuckle reverberated around the room. The air suddenly felt ten degrees colder. "It's About Time," the skeleton in the doorway purred. That god damn sound! "I've Seen The Way You Look At Me, The Way You Rub Your Legs Together When You See My Fangs."

As if to prove his point, he ran his tongue (he has a tongue???) over his shark like teeth. "Admit It. You Want Me To Pound You Into The Mattress."

You looked away. His eyes were boring a hole into you. "M-maybe..."

"Good Pet." He stepped closer, and you swallowed hard. "Now..." Before you could think, your hands were pinned to the bed. His magic swirled around your wrists, reminding you just how helpless you were around him. "Let's Have Some Fun~"

He tore the blanket off, revealing your naked lower half. He looked over you approvingly before using his claws to tear your little tank top open. "Much Better. Oh!" He looked down, where your arousal was clear. "You Like This More Than I Thought You Would~"

"Shut up," you tried weakly. "I-I've never done this before, of course I'm going to be excited."

For a moment, Scar's eyes changed to stars. Before you could get a better look, they had gone back to their normal electric purple dots. "Good, That Means I'm Your First~"

As he spoke, he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing his thick, strong ribs. There were a few small scars scattered around his bones, with one especially striking one, diagonal across his chest. You swallowed hard, shrinking under his unflinching gaze.

"I Hope You Prepared Yourself," he smirked. "I've Waited Too Long For This." He slipped three fingers inside you without warning. The burn felt amazing, and you screamed in pain and pleasure. Thankfully, Scar seemed to know just how to angle his claws so he would tear up your delicate insides. His eyes never left your body, like he was trying to memorize every tiny detail.

After only a few minutes of his wonderfully talented fingers, Scar pulled them out, much to your chagrin. You were mortified when he licked them off. "Delicious," he commented, like you were a fine wine he was trying. "I'll Have To Try It Directly From The Source Another Time. But For Now..." He tugged his pants down, revealing a thick cock, just as purple as his eyes and tongue. "I Can't Wait To Feel You Around Me~"

Subconsciously, you spread your legs wider. You may be a virgin, but you had wanted someone to wreck you for a long time. Without further ado, Scar lined himself up with your entrance and slowly began to push inside.

Fuck, if you thought his fingers were too much, you had no idea what you were getting into. You thrashed and whimpered in pain, but Scar's magic wouldn't let you move far. The skeleton paused, letting you adjust for a moment.

"Are You Okay, My Love?" he whispered. "It's Not Too Much?"

"N-no, it feels so good," you gasped. Even though you felt stretched beyond your limits, you needed more!

Scar smirked. "I Knew You Were Meant For Me." He pushed, faster this time, until he was seated fully inside you.

The monster above you only gave you a moment to gather yourself. Then, he began to pound you, hard. You bit your lip to try to muffle your sounds, but were stopped by a threatening nip to your neck. "Let Me Hear You," Scar snarled.

Obediently, you opened your mouth and let all your filthy moans spill out. Scar seemed pleased, as he rewarded you with an especially sharp thrust.

"S-scar," you whimpered. "So good!"

"That's Right, Mine Is The Only Cock You'll Ever Want," he panted, seemingly to himself. "The Only One That Will Ever Touch You."

Before you could do anything, Scar bit down on your neck, hard. You screamed louder than you had before. Fuck, that hurt! But the pain only seemed to make the pleasure stronger, especially when Scar began to rub at your sex in time with his thrusts.

"Cum For Me," he demanded. "Let Me See Your Face When You Cum!"

You couldn't help but obey. Your pained scream turned into a pleasured one as you came hard around his cock. Faintly, you could hear Scar muttering something about a mark, and you belonging only to him.

Scar's thrusts were getting erratic now, much less controlled than before. After a few more moments, he pulled out, spraying his hot cum all over your stomach and chest.

Once you had regained control of your breathing, you lay back against the pillows, exhausted. Faintly, you noticed your hands were free from Scar's magic. Instead of pushing him away like you would have this morning, you instead ran your fingers along Scar's ribs, curious about the texture.

Gently, Scar grabbed your wrist. "Be Careful, You Might Get Me Excited Enough For A Second Round," he winked. You flushed. "I Would Be More Than Happy To, But We Have To Get That Bite Cleaned Up."

Instinctively, you touched the mark on your neck. It was bleeding a bit. "Yeah, what was that about?" you asked, trying and failing to sound mad.

"It Is A Claiming Mark," he said. "It Shows Everyone That You Are Mine And Mine Alone." The thought sent a surprisingly warm feeling to your loins. "You Belong To Me, Love. And Now, Nothing Can Change That."

"A-and if I say no?"

Scar laughed, a shockingly happy sound for the situation. "Oh Love, You Don't Have A Choice! You Haven't Had A Choice Since I First Laid My Eyes On You."

He kissed your lips, gently. "Don't Worry, I Will Take Very Good Care Of You. Just Give In. You Are Mine."

[hotwings0203]

HOWDY!! how are u doing?? Its that person who asked if you would write something for that deku imagine that @candy-hime wrote, about you and deku forced to live together and you corrupting him it could be you or reader but I just love that concept of corrupted! Deku 😩🙏🏾💕💕

Thank you, have a nice day/night!! 😪💜

OH HI HAHAHA MASSIVE BET, I think I’ll do a little bit of both. This will probably be a little self indulgent but I’ll still put it as an “x reader”!

Tw:noncon, misogyny, the reader is a bitch, vouyerism

It was a dare by your friends to live with Izuku Midorkya for a month if you really could handle any type of man.

You’ve dealt with Hawks’ cocky nature, Shoto’s bland comebacks, Bakugo’s constant state of rage- you’ve done it all. Any type of scummy or tiring man a girl has to date you’ve seen in all of these men. They’re practically walking red flags.

Until you’re forced to room with Deku for a whole freaking month.

You just don’t get him! Why is he always so cheery? What the fuck is he smiling about? And who the hell is he baking for? There’s only two of you in the house, it’s not like you’re his girlfriend or anything.

You don’t buy it. There has to be some kind of catch to all this facade of a gentleman.

“Hey, Y/N?” He knocks on your ajar door and peeks his cute little face in. “Did you have dinner yet? I was gonna eat but then I thought I’d have some ramen with you-“

“Did I say you could enter?” You slowly lift your head up from your laptop and glare at him. “Are you some kind of pervert? What if I was changing?”

“N-no! I’m so sorry, I should’ve let you answer first, I just wanted to see if you were hungry-“

“God, what are you, my dad? Is that what you want? For me to call you Daddy?” Sneering, you jump up from your bed and stall towards the door.

Deku stumbles over his feet to retreat after seeing the look on your face. “No! Not at all, what? Come on, I didn’t mean any harm-“

“Yeah? Then knock before you enter closet perv.” And with that, you slam the door mere inches away from his startled face as hard as you can, uncaring if the low this on the other side of the wood was his connection to it swinging shut.

“What a fucking brown-noser,” you mutter loud enough for him to hear.

It’s odd how long you wait behind the door before you can hear his footsteps retreat.

A week later you decide to amp it up a notch. There’s no way he’s so fucking green, there’s gotta be some twisted thing inside him that makes him tick.

And so on the day of his turn to do laundry, you decide to dump your fanciest and sluttiest undergarments into the laundry basket.

He’s in some dorky apron when you catch him kneeling over the bag, ruffling through clothes and spraying them with detergent like the good little boy he is.

You perch on the couch behind the laundry room and wait. He doesn’t hear a thing with his headphones blasting some stupid happy-go-lucky songs in his ears.

Eventually he pulls out your lace g-string, and stares at the crumpled mass in confusion. He unravels the lace and stares at it for a good minute or two in surprise you think.

But nonetheless, like the chivalrous man he is, he shakes his head and slaps his reddening cheeks to get over the shock before reaching for the spray.

This was your cue.

You make sure to sound out of breath and extra irritated when you flounce over to his kneeling form and snatch the garment out of his hands.

He jumps a bit and takes his headphones off when he sees your hand descending.

“Oh, it’s just you. You scared me for a sec’ there,” he laughs sheepishly and rubs his neck. “I was just doing the laundry, sorry if that looked weird.”

“Looked weird? You’re fucking disgusting, Dick-u. I’ve been looking for these for days now, and where do I find them? In your grubby little hands.”

His jaw drops open.

“Huh? No, you’ve got it all wrong! It was in the basket, I swear! You must have misplaced it by accident or something.”

“Oh, so now you’re calling me a liar? You think I’m crazy or something? Im not the one sniffing girls’ panties!”

He frantically waves his hands to negate your accusation but you merely spit on the floor next to him.

“Don’t touch my shit again you fucking freak. Go buy a pocket pussy or something since you can’t keep it in your pants.”

At this, he pinches his eyebrows together and starts getting up.

“Hold on, what’re you being so aggressive for? I told you, they were just in here, I’m not that kind of guy.”

He steps towards but you don’t back down. Rather, you jab a finger in his toned chest and bring yourself face-to-face with him.

“Dont fucking walk up to me like that you douche. You’re the one in the wrong here, so I wouldn’t be so aggressive, like you said. Come at me like that again and I’ll fuck you up.”

With the lace in hand, you barely contain your smirk as you storm back into your room, relishing in how Izuku stands like a statue in the same place as you left him, his hands curiously curling into fists and his nostrils inflated.

But behind the safety of your door, he doesn’t continue any shenanigans.

He stays relatively quiet and out of sight for a couple of days, and you start to get bored again.

So this time, you put all your cards on the table and do a double whammy.

One night you call Katsuki, a fuck buddy of yours for a while and use him to help you get off.

You’re not really horny, but the blond side does have a way of getting you there. Luckily, your room is right next to Deku’s so your plan is executed to the best extent.

“Katsuki, oh Katsuki, please. Fuck, fuck yeah, ‘wanna hear you cum for me baby, I want you to bruise my cervix,” you babble loudly as you shove two fingers in your pussy and use your thumb to press on your clit.

“Yeah, you fucking whore, you like that? You like knowing that a shitty nerd like him’s prolly getting off to you calling my name like a slut? I bet you do, keep fucking yourself to my voice, do it otherwise I’ll bruise your ass black and blue when this month’s over.”

“Kat-Katsuki please fuck meeee dadddyyyyy oh fuck-Kacchan!” You cry out and cum violently around squelching fingers.

You put the phone down for a moment to catch your breath, but hear nothing from the other room.

Your face falls as Bakugo rambles on the other end. You hang up with him mid-sentence and remove your fingers from your legs, licking it off absentmindedly and thinking of your next move.

The next morning, you don the tiniest pairs of shorts you have in your closet that accentuates the shape of your ass and the skimpiest bra you can find that shows a peek of the top of your nipples.

You tie your hair up and amble out into the kitchen where he already is, reading something on his his phone and sipping form a black mug.

He barely darts his eyes and lifts the corners of his mouth in a hesitant greeting when he sees what you’re wearing.

He chokes on his drink and does a massive double take, juice spilling from his open mouth.

You raise an eyebrow and smooth your baby hairs, rolling your eyes and walking behind him to grab your own cup.

“See something you like?” Water trickling is the only sound in the room apart from your quip.

“Uh, n-no. Just swallowed wrong I guess.”

“Wonder why,” you drawl with a bored voice and edge closer to his back.

He’s hunched over, mindlessly scrolling too-fast on his phone to be deemed as actually reading anything. You recognize this form of coping from people like yourself who try to find distractions at parties where you don’t know people, just flipping through tabs to look like you’re actually doing something.

As you walk around him again, you make sure to train your eyes on his own, hounding he out for the moment he slips.

And slip he does, but only after you pretend to stretch and lift your self on your tippy toes in front of him, your shorts hiking up to show some cheek.

It’s only for a moment, but while the cup is against his mouth and his phone in his hand, his eyes dart to the exposed skin, then back up to your triumphant eyes.

“I knew it.”

He sighs and puts his cup down. “Knew what?”

“That you were a sick little virgin who gets off on staring at girls.”

“Y/N, I wasn’t-“

“I also know,” you raise your voice above his and slowly walk over to the table on the other side across from him, leaning forward and making sure that your tits squish together as you drop them on the countertop, “that last night you were totally listening to me on the phone with Bakugo. I heard your grunts and disgusting fapping noises. You don’t have to make it so obvious that you don’t get any.”

And this time, regardless of his indignation and frustration, he can’t stop himself from watching your hands trail up the sides of your bra and slowly drag the material down, down, down until your perfect breasts spill out and embrace the cold granite.

You honestly have no idea if he jacked off to last night’s call or not, but he doesn’t seem to be denying anything.

His mouth opens the widest you’ve even seen it. His face is beet red, and he visibly starts to perspire.

Your hands mold the soft skin and squeeze until your nipples swell and peek out from between your ruthless fingers, but you still look as bored and slightly curious as ever.

“This is all you’re ever gonna get, you sad incel. Take a good long look at them since I know this is what you’ve been wanting this entire time now.”

His mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out.

When he groans and starts to bring his down down between his legs, you strike.

“I guess I really was right. You’re not some nice guy, it was all a facade. Can’t wait to tell everyone how fucked in the head you are.” His vision starts to clear as you sneer at him again and start packing your tits back where they belong.

As you turn around, you call out over your shoulder, “Oh, and by the way? You whimper like a little bitch.”

It’s silent as you walk with your head held high back to your room, sure that you had broken him and that he was going to take his loss with his own held low.

You don’t really expect to hear the thunderous sounds of someone dragging their chair away and positively sprinting towards you.

You turn halfway and your eyes widen as you see him barreling towards you with the most terrifying expression you’ve ever seen on him.

“What the fu-“

But you don’t get a chance to finish your exclamation, because Deku body slams you onto your bed and immediately seized your wrists above your head. You can feel his hard-on rub against your mound as he straddles your flailing body and keeps you pinned between his muscles calves.

“Get off of me, are you fucking crazy?” You scream and toss your head side to side, trying to arch your back to throw him off of you-which only succeeds in pressing your mound against his.

“You teasing slut. All I’ve done is try to play nice with you, but you just had to fucking push it, didn’t you?” He rages quietly, his arms shaking in effort not to snap your wrists in half. You still as his jaw clenches and trembles, his green hair hanging over his eyes that reflect nothing but malice and hate.

You’re scared. For the first time this entire month with him, you want him away from you and off of you.

“Look, I-I messed up, I know, I’m sorry-“

“-You’re sorry?” He laughs high pitched and you cringe when he thrusts his face towards yours, practically brushing noses and seeing his bloodshot crazed eyes.

“Yeah, you will be sorry. After today, you won’t ever fuck with me again. Or at least want to. I’ll do whatever the hell I want with you though since that’s what you’ve been so hellbent on achieving, right?”

His scarred hands waste no time in yanking down your bra the same way you did before, except much less gentler than you did by yourself.

“No, no, Deku please, I’m really sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” You whimper and struggle again beneath him, which is promptly stopped with a loud squeal when he pinches your nipple.

“Shut up. Wanton bitches like you don’t get to beg for mercy.”

He smirks and lets his tongue flop onto your strained neck, slobbering like a dog all over you.

“This is what you wanted right? For me to put you in your place and fuck your needy hole? And you had the audacity to call me disgusting,” he laughs and draws back, mocking your wobbling lips.

“Oh, oh baby don’t cry,” he holds both your wrists in one hand and uses the other to caress your cheek, slapping it hard when you turn away from his touch. “You’re just gonna get what’s coming to you.”

He indicates what he means by grinding his hips against the front of your shorts, snickering as you whimper and dipping his fingers below the hem, teasing you cruelly.

“Whose whimpering like the bitch now, huh?”

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, dubcon/noncon, manipulative language, manipulation

fem reader

Kirishima Eijirou

so I know many view Kiri as that goodie-goodie guy who would cry if he ever hurt his girl and is just the softest yandere all around... but I raise you

The man, the provider, the good jock. 

He’s heavy on the suggestive, persuasive, overbearing language. “Come on, babe, don't be shy~ Let me see you~” 

Always pushing you into doing things you don’t want to do by continuously nudging the topic. Resorting to guilt-tripping if you're still reluctant. “You’re giving me blue-balls, babe... let’s just have some fun, yeah?” 

Casual blackmail as a means of getting what he wants. “I didn't peg you for a tease, sending me all those pretty pictures only to string me along like this... it’d sure be a shame if those delicate intimate photos got lost... wouldn't it?” 

Grabbing your wrists and guiding your hands down his pants while licking at your neck, with his other hand palming your breasts, rough and abrasive, showing and flexing his strength to make you understand how you don’t stand a chance against him.

Faking sensitivity when you talk about breaking up. Cries like a pathetic mess about how you're everything to him, his whole world, how he’s nothing without you, how he might just die if you leave him. 

Touchy. Grabs and gropes at you every minute just to remind you and everyone else who you belong to. Always has an arm on you, either slung over your shoulders, around your waist, with his hand in the back pocket of your pants, resting his chin on your head, hugging you from behind, casually pressing his bulge into the crevice of your ass. Always suffocating and overwhelming your space. 

Leaves marks everywhere for all eyes to see, just so that no one gets any ideas. Will bite like a hound when he gets “carried away” as he calls it, sharp teeth sinking skin-deep into the flesh of your neck, your shoulder, your ass, the inside of your thighs. Making you panic to try and get away from him, only to hold you down while apologizing and cooing at you to calm down. “I’m sorry, babe, but it’s not my fault you’re a little snack.”

Wants to be satisfied at once when the itch surfaces, doesn't matter where or when. You have to be on your phone every minute of every hour because all hell breaks loose if he finds out you've been ignoring him and his texts. 

He’ll have you pleasing him in the broom closet at school, the backseat of his car, a bathroom stall, or an empty classroom, wherever’s convenient.

Hungry attacks on your neck, on your breasts, large scathed hands tugging off your panties and groping harshly at the plump flesh of your ass, slapping the skin and smirking while apologizing. “I just missed you so much, babe.” 

Grinding and humping into you while excusing his feral behavior on hormones, how “he cannot help himself, cannot control himself, cannot stop himself” because you just look so perfect.

It’s really your fault, if anything if you think about it. Your fault for wearing that skirt and that top and that perfume and that lipstick.

Will manhandle, pull your body into whatever desired position, will push your shoulders down to when your knees hit the floor, make you open up the buttons and zipper to his slacks as he stands there idly watching you satisfy him and his urges, will slap his dick gently on your lips to make you open up, loves to press his cock-head into the side of your mouth and slap the bulge on your cheek ever so lightly while fisting your hair in his brutal grip. 

Is very verbal, cooing and praising and saying his thanks. “You’re so good to me, baby, so good, taking me so well.” 

Says sweet things, small little nothings, praising and cooing, telling you how good you are at taking care of your man. 

He’s an old-fashioned “gentleman” who opens the car door, pulls out your chair, kisses your hand, gives you foot and back rubs, and slaps your ass when asking you sweetly if you could go make yourself useful in the kitchen.

Kaminari Denki

and I know many view Denki as the horny sleazy moron who knows all the memes, but again... I beg to differ

He’s that pretty funny popular boy of the group, the fuckboy. 

The charming one with the approachable smirk, the one that cracks a joke, slings an arm around your shoulder, and makes you feel comfortable. 

To the naked eye, he’s a very straight-up, laid-back, and casual guy who’ll trap his next victim with sticky honey, using her only to spit her right back out again... until, of course, he meets the one he can't seem to let go of.

He’ll be funny, makes you laugh often, and makes you giggle and snort and wheeze as you hold onto him after one of his ridiculous stories. 

But it doesn't make up for how he degrades you, bullying you with snide comments about your appearance and sense of style and the dumb little things you’re passionate about, then berates and chastises you for crying when you should know it was only a silly little joke. “Sorry baby, but you know I’m just playing. You know I love you even though you’re nothing but a little crybaby.” 

Manipulates you into staying with him and needs to have you squished beneath his thumb in order to feel comfortable and safe, knowing that you won't leave him. “Come on, quit acting. We both know you’ll come crawling right back after you’re done crying wolf. Let’s just skip to the part where you realize you’re being a drama queen.” 

Is honestly the biggest fucking asshole. “Why are you always in such a mood, you should loosen up.” 

He’ll roll his eyes, make you feel ridiculous, make you feel like you’re the one acting out. He’ll push you into the mattress, overwhelm you, and be so deceptively sweet when drumming his fingers between your thighs. 

Even when you tell him you aren't in the mood, he’ll just smile, bite your earlobe, push the fight out of you with more playful teasing strokes to your panties, crushing your wrists in his other palm, whispering in your ear. “You know you love me, quit sulking, lets have some fun instead...”

He’s vain and egocentric, fixes and styles his hair for hours in the morning, and is very pristine when picking out his outfits. Loves to go shopping and will drag you along and style and fix you up to every obsessive degree, resulting in more than a handful of heavy, desperate, ragged make-out sessions inside small fitting rooms.

Loves to poke fun at losers, whispering mean jabs into your ear, then giggling. Especially about your friends. Calling you no fun when you tell him to stop.

He’s so exhaustingly controlling, decides what you wear, and mocks and pokes fun at you to hide the fact that he’s terrified of you realizing you could do much better. 

He gaslights you at every little hiccup and ridicules your feelings when you tell him you don’t like it when he patronizes you. “Oh, my oversensitive little baby... you’re so melodramatic, I swear.” 

Makes you doubt yourself, destroys your self-esteem, your self-value, and your self-respect, and resorts to bribery through gifts and gestures when he’s fucked up a tad bit too much to gloss over the fact that he’s a selfish prick.

[shuckinbeanz]

Gangster!BNHA au p.2

warnings/notes: nsfw, minors dni or imma 👏 virtual 👏 smacc 👏 u 👏, and fucking (literally) gangsters. left off from what i shared with @miggiisdumb ages ago incase some of ya'll didn't see. click the link for some gangster! kiri, denki, and deku. 👀 im thirsty af so im sexing up several more hubbies some are longer than others

i'll post other parts soon can only fit so many hashtags 😩

Underage characters are Aged Up!

MINORS 👏 DNI! 👏 AGE 👏 IN 👏 BIO 👏 OR 👏 DNI! 👏 Head on over to @candybowbeansies please for my SFW pieces, or be blocked if you interact here! 😇

First | Second | Third

we know(or at least some of us know) ab her LOVELY gangster!bakugo 🥵 which inspired these! Featuring toshinori, aizawa, & mirio~

gangster!toshinori is one of the many gangs goddamn leaders, he's borderline mafia(don't doubt for one second he's got connections with them). in this au his physique is somewhere in the middle between his buff and smol forms. as an older gentleman, he prefers the more subdued aesthetic than the drip the youngsters tend to wear; suits, ties, button-up shirts. he expertly plays himself off as a kindly airhead, all brawn, no brain himbo, but this mf is calculating. two faced(in case you were wondering where gangster!deku got his two-facedness), completely fucking merciless to those who cross him or his darling baby girl. won't hesitate to make a show of it, either. he sets up everything, having that bastard salaryman (who will soon regret being alive) who was a complete creep, hounding you to hook up with him looked into and kidnapped, his whole gang behind him. creep wakes up in a warehouse, gangster!deku holding his Boss's gaudy yellow suit jacket surrounded by other members, the blonde adjusting his shirt cuff. "A pretty little birdy told me...about your unsavory habits, ____." he'd say with his characteristic grin(except its a gawdamn warning signal with how much fucking killing intent is behind it). tl;dr dude gets clapped by the Might gang and shipped off only Toshinori knows where, minus a few things that i dare not specify.

Oh, that creep finally stopped bothering you? Nah, don't worry about it, baby. Here, have some lavish gifts from Daddy so you can get your pretty little mind off him. He doesn't matter, anymore. 😉

HE SPOILS YOU ROTTEN like if anyone saw yalls they'd think he was your sugar daddy. i mean he kinda is but if you like older men like me 😩 he gets allllllllllllllllllllllllll the repayment he could ever need and then some Daddy pls jus rail my cooch all i want is 2 b ur toyyy 🥴

Behind closed doors? Two words. Goliath. Dick. its massive and it shows thru his dick print on his tuxedo pants and you take it like a goddamn soldier. 🥴 "That's it, darling...you take me so, so well. I almost feel sorry for ruining you for others..." expect to be molded into his cocksleeve😩🥵

gangster!shouta tends to keep his questionable activities on the downlow. he's Might gang's 'cleaner' so to speak. he 'ties up loose ends' by whatever means necessary. he's also a hitman. employers seek his boss, his boss briefs him, and he claps the target. ez pz. constantly looking through a scope to clap targets really puts a strain on his eyes. he teaches as a teacher on the side. need to pay bills, somehow, and the extra cash is appreciated. he can be found at quiet bars, and on occasion dragged to a club during its 'quieter' hours by his boyfriend gangster!hizashi.(it can be a poly relationship if ur into dat 👀👀👀)

poor man is overworked, and nothing gets his chonky minizawa up quicker than TLC. Give him a massage, run your fingers through his hair, light scented candles and have a bubble bath together, scrub his back, do facials together, give him fucking breakfast in bed, pls just care for him 🥺👉👈 "This is a very pleasant surprise, kitkat." he'll tell you as he bends you over any available surface and proceeds to rail you 😩🥵 man's dick is thicc so be prepared for a pleasant stretch 🥴

gangster!mirio is a very energetic himbo who can never sit the fuck still. he's like a goddamn golden retriever. he is very excitable, a huge fucking flirt, and a complete showoff. like gangster!denki he doesn't have an ounce of shame. he is also extremely possessive, but you love it thats why you stay 😂 that and his dick game(which is for later) 😂 he'll see that dude who was oogling you from the corner of the club while you were catching up with your friends in front of you, before you do. hovering closely behind you, drink in one hand, other shamelessly groping your phat ass "Ay, fella~" smoothing over your hip "Like what you see?~" hooking a thumb inside the band of your bottoms "Too bad. She's mine." rutting his crotch against your ass before bending and placing hot kisses on your neck.

he is another pussy-eater like gangster!deku. veryenthusiastic. most of the time itll go on til you beg him to just use you as a toy. 🥴 dont you underestimate his brute strength. he'll legit lift you up in front of a mirror spread eagle, arms hooked securely under your knees, making you watch his throbbing veiny cock that hits all the right spots in your cunny as he bounces you on his cock 😩 "See that, princess? My fat cock plungin' into that sweet honeypot of yours...?" but oh god his biceps as they flex when he lifts you up then releases you just enough to impale you on it just in time with his thrusts just *bites lip*

[bakubabes-tatakae]

Hello! Can I request some Kiba x fem!reader smut? Kiba and reader are best friends and reader is very popular with the guys but she's insecure about dating because she thinks most guys just want her for sex and she's a virgin, so one day she and Kiba are talking about it and reader proposes that she and Kiba lose their virginities to each other because she knows they won't regret it since they're besties. But Kiba and reader secretly have feels for each other so it's super fluffy? Thank you :)

This might be the longest request I’ve ever done. But our boy Kiba deserves it. ❤😍 I hope you like it. You’re so welcome. 

First Times || {NSFW} Kiba x Reader

AO3 Link

Word Count: 1.7k

Kiba couldn’t stand the way the other guys in the village were with you. Every single one of them thought that they stood a chance with you. It angered him more than it should have. 

He could never let go of the feelings that he had felt for you, and he had hoped that you felt that same way. But he could never find the courage. When he had met you at the academy when the two of you were eight years old you had grown inseparable. 

Now it was twelve years later and the two of you were still as inseparable as ever. 

He had never worked up the courage to tell you exactly what he had always wanted too. He had always wanted to tell you that he was in love with you. He wanted to tell you that no matter what happened he wanted to be the person that you ended up with. Kiba wanted to tell you that he had been in love with you for twelve years now, that he had been saving himself for you. But he just couldn’t do it. 

You could never tell him that you felt the same. You could never tell him that since the first day that the two of you had met he had been the only thing that you ever thought about. Kiba was the person that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with as well, but you were too frightened of being rejected, that you never said anything. 

You knew that a lot of the guys in the village just wanted to get into your pants and you were afraid that even the good guys felt the same way. 

As you thought to yourself you heard a familiar barking coming from behind you. When you turned around you saw a happily bouncing Akamaru coming toward you. When the ninja hound made his way to you he jumped up, his paws landing on your shoulders. Akamaru was taller than you when he stood on all fours. As a bark came from the hound you heard another familiar sound coming from behind him. 

“Akamaru, I know you’re excited to see her, but get down.” Kiba’s hand was behind his head, nervously scratching as he watched his dog nearly knock you down.

Akamaru hopped down and went to stand next to Kiba. 

“Kiba!” You ran to him and he wrapped you into his arms. You took in the familiar smell of the Inuzuka boy and you were hesitant to let go. It had always felt so safe in his arms. 

He let you go and crossed his arms. “What are you doing tonight? I was thinking about bringing some ramen over and having dinner and a movie. We haven’t had a movie night in a while.”

You smiled at the thought of it. “I’d love to have a movie night Kiba.”

He gave you a thumbs up and looked down at Akamaru. “Then Akamaru and I are going to go hit the store and get everything that we need and I’ll meet you at your place around six?”

“Six works for me.” You chuckled at his enthusiasm and watched as the two of them bolted away. 

* * * * * * 

A knock on your door caused you to turn around and jump some. You looked at the clock and realized what time it was. You spoke softly to yourself. “Kiba…” You were already picturing the man before you opened the door. 

His excited smile greeted you as you held it open. “Good evening milady.” He bowed and held a bottle of champagne out to you. 

You grasped the bottle and held it. “You even brought champagne? What a gentleman.” 

He followed you in and shut the door behind him. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. You had only been in a baggy t-shirt and a pair of shorts, but you still looked as beautiful as you always did. 

You allowed him to start dinner while you set everything up for the movie. As he moved swiftly through the kitchen preparing everything you found your gaze lingering on him. You had never realized how at home Kiba looked in the kitchen. When he approached with two bowls of ramen that looked almost to delectable to eat you smiled. He placed them on the coffee table and poured you each a glass of wine as you both sat on the couch. 

He held his glass to yours. “To best friends and always having each other’s backs. Forever.”

You clinked them together. “Yes, I one hundred percent agree with that. Forever Kiba.”

As the two of you ate dinner and drank your champagne it felt like home. Just being in each other’s company made you both feel at ease. The more champagne the two of you drank the more confident Kiba was getting. 

Before you even knew what was happening Kiba’s arm slowly made its way over your shoulder. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you leaned into him, resting your head on him. But you wanted more, your own confidence was building with every sip of your drink as well. You turned your head to Kiba and watched him, he hadn’t noticed you staring yet so you made your move. 

You reached a hand up and touched his cheek. As he looked down at you, you slowly turned your body, and before he could object you straddled his lap. As your lips slowly moved toward his you saw his eyes grow wide, but as your lips touched the hunger in his kiss became evident. 

Kiba’s hand slid down to your waist and held your hips. You grasped his shirt in your hands and pulled him as close to you as you could. His hands grabbed the bottom of your shirt and slowly lifted it over your head. As his eyes befell on the lacey bra that you had been wearing under the shirt he licked his lips.

Your hands gripped the zipper of his jacket, pulling it down and helping him take his arms out of it, leaving him in his tank top. He grabbed his own tank top and yanked it over his head, throwing it haphazardly to the side. 

Kiba’s strong arms wrapped around you as he lifted you off the couch, allowing you to wrap your legs around his torso. As you clutched your body around him he walked toward your bedroom, lowering you to the edge of the bed and loitering over you, never once letting his lips leave yours. 

“Kiba… please.” You pleaded with him as you felt the bulge in his pants pushing against your leg. “Touch me.”

His hand pushed the hair in your face back. “Are you sure you want to do this Y/n?”

You grabbed his hand and slowly ran it down your chest, stopping as it reached your throbbing cunt. “I need you Kiba.”

That was all it took. Kiba knew he had never done this before, and neither had you, but it was time to learn. His hand trailed into your shorts, hesitant that he would do something wrong. He rubbed his finger over your panties. “You’re so wet for me darling.” There was a rasp behind his voice. “How long have you been holding this back?”

You whined as his fingers met your clit, slowly rubbing circles around it as he watched you arch into his touch. It was so much different when another person was in control. His fingers finally entered your sex and his name rolled off your tongue. 

His own erection was getting painful against his pants. He had to finish this quickly or he wouldn’t be able to control himself anymore. His other hand rubbed against your clit and the stimulation had you nearing your release quickly. He could feel your walls tightening against his digits and sped up, hoping to get you there any second. Your walls clamped down against his fingers and a loud moan filled the room as you felt yourself come undone under his touch. 

A low growl left Kiba as he pulled his fingers out, holding them up so that you could see your slick upon them. He licked his fingers clean and slowly undid his belt. “You’re one hundred percent sure you want to do this Y/n?”

You nodded, still reeling from the orgasm that had just shattered your world. You felt his erection against your leg as he lined up with your entrance. He slowly thrust into you and pain sent a shock through you, but once that pain was over it was nothing but bliss. When he noticed the pain in your face he stopped. You whined. “I’m fine Kiba. Keep going.”

He obeyed and thrust in and out of you. The feeling of your wet cunt was almost too much for him to handle. “You’re so tight Y/n. I don’t know how long I’m going to last.” 

You threw your head back against the pillows and arched your back, trying to get him as far in your core as he could. 

“So good for me. So perfect.” A few small grunts left his lips as he tried to hold his composure. You leaned forward into his chest as you could feel another orgasm coming. As your walls closed around his cock his pace quickened. “I’m almost there Y/n.”

His name rolled off your tongue again as your second climax pulsed through you. The feeling of your slick coating his cock caused a moan to leave him as he released into your quivering pussy. “I love you Y/n.” 

He collapsed on top of you as you tried to catch you breathe. You were still trying to wrap your head around what he had just said. When you were silent he looked back up at you, worried about what you might have to say, but when you opened your mouth his worry washed away. “I love you, too, Kiba.”

He rolled over onto his back and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into him. The only thing he could say made you chuckle. “Wow.”

You looked over at him. “Stay the night?”

He looked back over at you and smiled. “Yea, I’d love to.”

And the rest of your night you spent in his arms. Not worried about the world around you. Finally able to get out what the two of you had wanted to say to each other for the longest time. Finally able to have the person that you had each wanted to spend the rest of your life within each other's grips. It was the most peaceful sleep the two of you had gotten in a long time. 

Naruto Content Taglist 💕 @chidori-mint @praisingkuroosbedhead @korianrdr @excitedlysuffering @kakashishan @rubysroom @kurobo @uhhh-hatake @ari-hatake15 @siesel @blackkacchan

[thedistantstorm]

The Fledgling Diaries: A collection of stories about Marc, Devrim, and Suraya.

Just a kid getting split up from her parents at a Dawning-related festival. Basically all fluff and sassy kid!Suraya.

Previous parts here: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen.

She slips carefully between people. They were just here. Where did they go?

Suraya has never been to a festival like this before. The Dawning celebration is bright and alive and cold air and snowflakes and exciting. There were too many people around, but she'd gotten a little better at handling large crowds. Especially with her parents nearby. She had paused to look up at the glowing blue-glass crystal hanging between the Traveler and the Tower atop the wall. When she looked back, Marc and Devrim were gone.

The crowd is too dense for her to make any real progress in searching for them, the pushing and pulling around people - people she didn't know, didn't trust - making tendrils of anxiety creep in. She took a deep breath. Knowing them, they'd know she was gone by now. They would worry, too. She didn't want to make it worse by acting like a baby now.

The crowd presses her forward, and she manages to find some free space before a large street crossing. A tall, wide-shouldered man wearing gray fatigues stands with on the corner with a large gun. She recognizes the emblem on his chest.

He only looks down when she tugs at the side of his pant-leg, her quiet calls not reaching him.

“'Scuse me,” She says, when he finally sees her. “Are you Militia?”

He nods.

Her lip curls in a snarl when he goes back to watching the crowds. “Hey!” She calls, louder.

The man sighs. “What, kid?”

“I can't find my dads,” She says. “Can you help me?”

“FOTC would be better for that,” He answers. “We're just ancillary.”

Suraya knows. Her father had worked late the night before, responsible for security detail during a fireworks show that lit the underbelly of the Traveler in shades of blue and gold. She and Marc watched it from a rooftop away from the loud noise and rowdy crowds. She'd enjoyed it, though she'd have had more fun with both parents present.

“I want you to help me,” She says, when he signals to the officers across the way. Biting back her panic at his look of aggravation, she adds, “Please.”

The FOTC officer is a woman. She doesn't look mean, per se, but she does look a touch exasperated. “Another kid lost, huh?” She asks the militiaman.

“Appears so.”

She drops to the girl's level, taking a knee. She puts a gentle hand on each of Suraya's shoulders. The girl flinches hard and steps back. “I'll help you find your family,” The officer tells her. She withdraws her hands but watches, concerned. “What's your name?”

Suraya shakes her head. “I want the Militia officer to help me. Please.”

“Honey-”

“My Dad is Militia,” She tells the woman. “He’s special ops.”

“Erikson,” The officer says, “She tell you that part?”

He isn't listening, back to scanning the crowd.

She scoffs. “Ey! Meathead!” That draws his attention. He bristles. “The kid's dad is Militia. Says he's some rifle-toting madman like you.” Suraya doesn’t pay attention to the wink she gives him. “Might belong to someone important you shouldn’t piss off.”

“I’m sure he is. She's just being stubborn,” He replies. “I'm supposed to make sure no one gets unruly. Your job is dealing with the crying rugrats.”

Suraya growls, marching the three steps over to the young militia scout. “I'm Suraya Hawthorne,” She bellows. Before continuing, she takes a deep breath. “My dad's name is Devrim Kay and he's gonna be mad if you don't help me.”

Two sets of eyes blink at her.

“Erikson-”

“I know, I know.” He drops to a knee beside the other officer. “Your dad is the Gentleman Sniper?”

“Yes,” She says, chest puffed up with pride. Her deadpan glare is close copy of the man she speaks of. “Now will you help me?”

The officer laughs at the dumbfounded nod of her counterpart. “I almost wish I could tag along. That face is priceless!”

Erikson growls. “Shut up. He works with my CO.”

The eight year old girl smiles at the FOTC officer as the man offers her a hand. “Thanks,” She says, waving once as they leave.

-/

Suraya makes short work of Erikson and his squad. By the time one very frantic combination of Marc and Devrim set eyes on her nearly an hour later - the longest hour of their lives to date - Suraya is sitting on a bench, feeding pieces of fried dough to pigeons. Three very green officers fuss and fawn over her.

Marc laughs in relief at her child's glower. She is clearly fed up, but also fine.

Her eyes dart up to them as they approach and she shoves the paper housing the birds’ meal to the side. Devrim's near sprint to her side is to be expected, Marc thinks. He'd thought for sure his husband was going to have a coronary if it had taken much longer for them to locate her. Marc, while worried, apparently fared better in these sorts of crises.

Suraya smiles shyly at her father, whom immediately wraps her up in a hug. The low-ranked squad looks rather perturbed at the sight of one of their higher-ups dressed in street clothes and hoisting his child to sit at his hip, looking visibly rattled. He speaks to her quietly, she puts hands on both his cheeks when she responds. When he regards them, they straighten to attention. Devrim's eyes are cool and relieved.

“You have my thanks,” He says. “All of you.”

They nod, preening under the praise.

Suraya whispers something into his ear, shielding her mouth with a hand. Devrim nods. “Erikson,” He says. His voice is silky and low.

The man gulps. “Yessir?”

Sharp eyes glance down at his daughter before looking the other man's way. “Suraya says you took point in assisting her. I won't forget that.”

“She found me, sir,” He answers, trying not to sweat under the scrutiny. “She's one helluva kid.”

“That she is,” He agrees. “Regardless. I am in your debt.”

Suraya gives Erikson a cheeky smile over Devrim's shoulder as they part ways. Somehow, the young militiaman feels like this won't be the last he sees of her.

... It isn't. Two decades later, when he and his battered, frightened squad of new recruits is being chased by War Hounds outside the city’s gate, three shots ring out. She drops them without emptying her clip. They look hesitant to trust her, until he extends a hand to shake her own.

“This,” He says, exchanging a smirk with her, “Is Suraya Hawthorne. Her dad’s Militia. We can trust her.”

Erikson himself becomes one of Hawthorne’s top scouts during the war, second only to Devrim himself.

[fierypen37]

The Oasis: Chapter 5

Writing juices have been flowing! Another chapter up!

His stepmother Catelyn Stark was a devoted follower of the Seven. The septas had read Jon and his siblings The Seven Pointed Star as children, and he’d learned all about the seven heavens and the seven hells. This was surely one of the latter, trapped in a loop of humiliation and embarrassment for eternity.

It had been fifteen minutes standing wooden beside Dany’s security guard guy, listening as a relationship was ground to powder. Dany’s relationship. Jon listened to every excruciating second as Dany verbally disemboweled the guy. The girl had scurried out, half-dressed and in tears. There was no amount of masculine camaraderie that could get Jon to sympathize with the bastard. He had Dany, walking spitfire and epitome of female perfection, promised to him. And he gets his jollies with the secretary? It was a cliché. An embarrassing one. The security guy, Selmy, he tapped on his cell. A blessed distraction, a veneer of privacy. Jon had no such shield.

He couldn’t put a finger on why he hung around, other than he wanted to see how it resolved. He’d stuck it out this far. The horndog in his head pointed out she might need a little cuddling and comforting once she dropped The Asshole Fiancé like a bad habit. His thinking brain shot down the idea, but that hopeful, starving hound waited, ready to trot around after her, tail wagging, ready to pant and beg for a scratch behind the ears.  

“To think I actually spent energy worrying about you. When you were here getting your wick dipped by a--”

“Where have you been, huh? All night I’ve tried calling, texting. I thought about calling the Watch!”

“Oh thanks for the consideration. So glad I crossed your mind in between blow jobs, you son of a bitch! I was almost killed tonight!”

“Killed? Don’t be dramatic, Dany!”

“Dramatic? I’m being dramatic when a guy puts a gun to my head?”

“I’m sure it wasn’t--”

“I thought all the gossip was just that. Cheating with an assistant? How could you do this to me? You know what, forget it. Obviously, the wedding is off. Go fuck yourself. Humph, I guess you already are.”

With that parting salvo, Dany emerged from the office. Ramrod straight, though there was the slightest quiver of rage in her hands as she combed her flyaway strands of her dried cloud of hair behind her ear. No ring. She’d flung it at the idiot’s eye in minute seven. The Asshole had the presence of mind to not chase after her.

Daenerys glided past them. Jon shared a glance with the security guy before trailing along in her wake.

“Miss--”

“Save it, Barry. I can’t stomach another lie.”  

Daenerys stopped short in the hall. Her violet gaze raked over Jon. In that gaze, he felt like an ant under a magnifying glass. Exposed. Naked. Damn, even that turned him on. What was wrong with him? A sucker for this one, lad.  

“Would you like to get dinner?”

“Uh . . . yeah. Sounds good.” In answer, she gave a curt nod, like a battle commander accepting their due.

The elevator chimed and the three of them piled in.

“Miss, we have to discuss the strategy moving forward,” Selmy said, to fill the thick silence.

“Agreed. Send a message to Mr. Lannister. He is acting manager until I return. Where is safe lodging? My apartment is now a crime scene,” Daenerys said frostily.

“The perpetrators knew your location and gained access your apartment. That means they have a geotag on your cell, and a bug in your electronics,” Selmy said. All the fierce energy bled away, leaving her looking drained and miserable. Jon checked the impulse to hug her just in time. He stumbled like he’d lost his balance. Yikes. He was in deep. But the deep water didn’t scare him. Nope, not even a little.

“So Vis’s apartment and the safe houses aren’t options either.”

“No, Miss,” Selmy said gently.

“You can stay with me,” Jon blurted.

Two pairs of eyes swiveled to him. One blue, one violet, both wearing identical expressions of disbelief.

“You said you need someplace safe nobody knows about. I’m the perfect nobody.” Nobody, guard, roommate, bedslave, whatever you want. Selmy had his number, Jon could tell by his narrow look. Who knew he got off on being a hero—particularly Dany’s hero? Daenerys laid a hand on his arm.

“Jon, I couldn’t ask you to--” Jon mustered a weak lopsided grin.

“It’s ok. I want to help. Stay with me as long as you need.” To his horror, her eyes filled with tears.

“Thank you,” she said soggily.

She didn’t hug him so much as collapse against him. Jon’s arms closed around her with a mental aah. Such fucking relief. Her strong, slender body, her face tucked under his chin, quivering lips pressed against his neck. Like a kiss. Swamped by the smell of her hair, guzzling up all that delicious contact . . . uh oh.

The elevator lurched to a stop and Daenerys peeled back. Jon’s happy bubble popped with an audible sound as soon as Dany left touching distance. Selmy’s scathing glance at his lower half almost made Jon yelp. The accusation in the older man’s face said he was an opportunistic asshole. And he was. Luring Dany to his apartment with even a faint desire to seduce her, after attempted murder and seconds after she broke up with her fiancé . . . yep, there was no other way to describe it.

Jon exhaled a heavy breath, reining in his libido which lunged on its chain like the slavering dog it was. He would be the perfect gentleman. He could do it.    

The three of them filed off the elevator. Two other guys in suits waited in the darkened lobby, both with long black braids. The streetlight filtered through the windows, creating a bluish, milky glow on the marble tiles.

“Miss, I’m sure we can come up with a better alternative. Mr. Snow has done quite enough.”

Daenerys rounded on Selmy, drilling an accusing finger into his chest.

“As have you, Mr. Selmy. How long did you know about it?” “Miss?” Selmy rubbed his chest, blinking in confusion.

“Daario. He has been in the same security circulation as I. You heard him say he’s been fucking Jeyne for three fucking weeks. One of you, my sharp security team, must have seen something.” Their sheepish expressions said it all. Daenerys made a derisive sound.

“Typical.” Her flashing violet eyes raked over the assembled men.

“If you value your employment, I want you three to see to security of The Oasis’s proprietor, Shae. I was there for over an hour earlier tonight. Missy too. If they geotagged by location, they could be in danger.”

“Yes, Miss,” Selmy mumbled, looking like a kid scolded by his teacher.

A fourth security guy crossed the lobby, laden with parcels.

“I got burgers from Hot Pie’s, some cash, a burner phone, a couple changes of clothes the goldcoats let me take, my wife walked me through the toiletry bit, but I think I got everything,” he said, with a thick northern accent.

Daenerys moved to take the parcels, Jon smoothly intercepted. Beneath the leaden disbelief was a giddy rush. Was this really happening? Dany in his apartment. Dany in her pajamas. Dany after showers. Dany sipping tea. Hell yes, sign him up.  

“Thank you, Jory. I’ll call you in the morning. Dismissed,” she said, with a scathing glare at her team. Laden with packages, Jon offered his elbow.

“Shall we?” he asked.

“Snow,” Selmy’s iron voice brought him up short. Daenerys narrowed a look at him.

“I’ll hail a cab,” she said, clicking away.

Jon squared off against the older man, meeting the challenge in his stare.

“The authorities would like to look at the weapon involved in the incident earlier tonight. May I see it?” Selmy said.

Frankly, Jon had forgotten about it, nestled against the base of his spine. Jon set down the bags and pulled it out. He dropped it into the proffered evidence bag.

“For what it’s worth, I would have done the same thing had I been there,” one of the other security guy said, the taller one with the long braid.

“Thanks,” Jon said.

“Do you have your own gun?” Selmy asked. Jon hid a wince, and shook his head.

“I’m a good fighter, and I have a big dog. That’s all I’ve needed so far.”

“I’ll let you borrow my backup weapon. We will come tomorrow evening to collect Miss Targaryen,” Selmy said, offering Jon a sleek semi-automatic pistol with two extra magazines. Jon accepted the weapon, releasing the magazine to check the number of rounds. Satisfied, he tamped it back in and checked the chamber to show them he knew what he was doing. Having passed a temporary muster, Selmy nodded.

“Tomorrow then, Snow.”    

                                                         ~

 It was close to one in the morning by the time the cab dropped them off at Jon’s apartment complex. Together they’d polished off the burgers, greasy chips, and soft drinks Jory bought. Hot Pie’s were the best in town. Daenerys managed one burger, but Jon tore through three.

“You don’t mind dogs, do you? I have a big furry mutt, Ghost. He’s a sweet dog, but protective. That’s good, right?” Jon sounded as nervous as she felt, and that put her at ease.

“I love dogs. My apartment complex wouldn’t allow pets, otherwise I’d adopt one,” Daenerys said, dabbing her mouth with a paper napkin.

“Here you are, m’lady, ser,” the cabbie said with a round Landinger accent.

Daenerys shelled off several bills and followed Jon out into the pissing rain.

“It’s nicer than it looks,” Jon said, gathering her bags on one arm as he buzzed the code to open his door. Daenerys thought it was serviceable building of weathered brick. Dated, but well-kept.

“I like it.”

Her heart rate kicked up a notch as the elevator doors closed. She was staying at Jon’s apartment. She would see him shirtless, tousled, sipping tea or brushing his teeth. Sleep in sheets that smelled like him.

The fantasy of pinning him to wall and having her wicked way with him—while to no end appealing—felt impossible. Daario had been cheating on her for weeks. It wasn’t just tabloid drivel; it was gut-wrenchingly real. Their relationship was over. Knowing Daario, she wouldn’t put it past him to scuttle to the press and release a statement for a wad of crowns. It was a kick in teeth after a long and spectacularly bad day. She and Daario hadn’t been intimate in a while, either. The only thing even remotely close to sexual energy had been massages at The Oasis with Jon. Mm, she savored the memory of his hands on her. The hug at Stormcrow had blown on those embers. Best to snatch at the lovely magic heat before it fizzled, as her sexuality inevitably did.

Daenerys drew a steadying breath in through her nose, and stabbed the STOP button on the elevator. A shrill bell pealed for an ear-splitting second as the brakes settled.

“Dany? What are you--” Jon asked.

Daenerys sidled close, edging him against the wall.

“I haven’t thanked you properly for what you did tonight,” she whispered, hoarse and soft. Daenerys flicked her gaze to his lips, full and smooth. Her mouth watered. She probably looked like a wreck, bloodshot eyes and ruined makeup and tangled hair. By force of will, Daenerys wrestled that nagging voice into a locked box in her mind.

Bracing her hands flat on his heaving chest, she leaned closer. Jon dropped the parcels, his dark eyes wide.

“Dany,” he whispered.

The first touch of her lips to his was shy, tentative. Electricity seemed to arc between them, a tingling jolt. She felt the sharp intake of breath, felt the sudden hot grip of his hands on her hips. Mm, there it was, that delicious melting feeling. A pulse deep at her core. She kissed him again, a deeper press. His hum vibrated against her lips. Jon angled his chin, deepening the kiss with unhurried pecks, easing in to taste her. Heat and hunger, nervousness and passion.

It spun and twisted. Oh. Oh, yes. Mm, she loved the stroke of his tongue, the syrupy taste of soda in his mouth, the prickle of his beard. One hand curled in the curly hair at his nape, the other burrowed beneath his shirt to stroke the hot, hard planes of chest and belly. His hand cupped her hip, the other tenderly cradling the weight of her breast through the lace of her bra. Slow, careful touches that left her nipples hard and her core slick and aching. Daenerys moaned, arching for more. He pinched her nipple, ever so gently, and the sensation sent pleasure arrowing south.

“Jon,” she whispered. In his name, she heard raw, shaky need. No time to embarrassed about it.      

Then suddenly, he pushed back, holding her at arm’s length. Daenerys wanted to cry or howl. Panting, she gulped down air, trying to master herself. Gods, he looked edible. Mouth red and ripe, hair in a curly snarl, a prominent erection strained against the cruel prison of his jeans.

“Be sure,” he said emphatically. Daenerys frowned, the words distant static compared to hot, towering hunger.

When she understood, she nearly did cry. Be sure she wanted him. Be sure it was real for her. Daenerys touched her forehead to his and in the humid, panting space between them, she whispered: “I’m sure.”

The world spun and she had her back against the wall, pinned by Jon’s warm, hard body.

“Ok?” Jon asked, nuzzling her cheek with his nose. The tenderness of it broke her heart. Daenerys nodded, leaning close to kiss him again.

The kiss took on a demented life of its own. A delicious, feverish blur. She didn’t recognize herself. Twined around him, kissing madly. Frantic heat. Flooded and needy, clawing for more. Jon lifted her against the wall, grinding his trapped cock against her core. Gods. Even that blunt pressure through their clothes was good. So good.

“Jon. Jon . . .” she whimpered, clinging to him. Fumbling with her shirt, he nuzzled the lacy cups of her bra, teasing one tender nipple with his tongue. Helpless mewling whimpers leaving her with each sharp jut of his hips. The tension gathered, building to the sweet-sharp tipping point . . . Daenerys clenched her eyes shut as the world blasted into a throbbing red, shot through with gold.

Jon.

                                                        ~

 Jon set her on her feet, pressing his face to her throat. Her pulse leapt against his lips, he lapped up the salt of her sweat, blazing a path to her sweet mouth. Clouded violet eyes looked at him like . . . fuck. She looked at him like he was her own personal god. Jon kissed her, ravenous. Puffy, kiss-bruised lips were soft and open, gentle hands petting his hair. Fucking hell, if this was how intense it was when they were both fully clothed, it would kill him if he was ever inside her. Gods, lodged deep in her sweet pussy, every inch of him kissed and loved, drinking in her face, her eyes as she fell apart . . . Jon broke away, panting.

“Jon?” Her voice was sex incarnate, husky and sweet. An adorable frown marred the pleasure-muddled look.

“You didn’t . . .” she trailed off. Jon shook his head.

“No,” he rasped, vaguely impressed he sounded human. His cock was achingly hard and throbbed along with his heartbeat. Daenerys Targaryen would be the death of him. Jon tilted his chin to give her a parting kiss, but it surged into greedy, clinging life. After a while, Jon peeled back with some effort, gulping in air. Mm, the floral scent of her hair, mixed with sweat and the musky fragrance of her pleasure . . . Jon uttered a frustrated sound.

“Let’s get inside,” he said.

On rubbery legs, he led the rest of the journey from the elevator to his apartment, laden with her bags. Ghost barked and wagged around both of them as he shouldered open the door.

“Shh, boy! Down! You got to be quiet!” Jon hissed. He kicked the door shut behind him, setting Dany’s bags down on the tea table. Jon grunted as Ghost’s front paws struck him in the gut. Ghost slobbered on his face, then immediately dismissed him to sniff and nuzzle at Daenerys. She giggled, ginger hands patting his thick ruff. Jon’s heart gave a lurch at the sight of her in his sparse living room. Daenerys Targaryen. The mind boggled.

The mood was definitely broken. Jon’s mouth twisted. That was for the best. He didn’t want to fuck this up. He wanted Dany to feel safe, to feel comfortable. The best way to ruin that was with sex. Incendiary and mind-altering as their petting had been, boundaries had to be locked down, etched in steel. No more slip ups. He had to be the perfect host. His body howled in denial. The silence between them felt excruciatingly awkward.  

A note fluttered in his key bowl beside the door. Grateful for the distraction, he picked it up. In Sam’s neat hand, he read: ‘Little Sam took Ghost on a walk up the stairs. He did his business on Mr. Glover’s welcome rug. We left a note. Call us back!!’ Beneath it in Little Sam’s heavy-handed scrawl, it read: ‘I gave Ghost a treat. Mr. Glover is mean.’ Jon chuckled.

“My neighbor, telling me he took Ghost for a walk,” Jon explained.

The mutt in question was on his back, squirming in delight as Dany rubbed his belly. You and me both, buddy. Daenerys giggled and cooed at Ghost before she straightened, dusting white dog fluff off her hands. She slung her bag over her arm.

“Um, I think I’ll take a shower, if that’s ok.” Jon bobbed his head in a frantic nod.

“Sure, help yourself. The only full bath is in the master, around the corner.” Jon trailed after her, as if connected by a string. His large bed was unmade, dirty clothes littering the floor. Face aflame, he snatched a pair of plaid boxer-briefs from the square bedpost.

“Sorry. I wasn’t . . . ah, expecting company.” The bathroom was little better, cluttered and messy. Daenerys’ smile loosened the knot in his gut.

“Don’t worry. It’s fine.”

Dany shut the door with a quiet click. When the hiss of the shower bled through the door, Jon burst into a frenzy of activity. He stripped the bed and wadded the sheets and dirty clothes into the hamper. Digging in his cramped linen cupboard, he found fresh sheets, silvery grey worn to downy softness. His summer blanket, a cheap black microfiber thing, looked too thin. She might get cold. He hauled out his down comforter too. The hefty flop of it releasing a faint musty odor. He remade the bed and tucked the curtains tight over the windows. He shucked off his damp clothes and peeled off soaked socks with a moue of distaste. The faint clean scent and dry chafe of a pair of drawstring sweatpants and white undershirt felt great.    

Jon snagged his favorite pillow and tossed it and an extra blanket on his squat suede couch. That would be his post. Guarding the door. Seized by inspiration, he checked the deadbolt, and wedged a dining room chair under the knob, just in case. The door was a solid, concrete-filled fire door. Hanging them was a bitch of a job. A quick sweep of the apartment found all the windows locked. They were high up and small, typical of the age of the building. The fire escape was at the end of the hall. A good little fortress against any of the fuckers who wanted to mess with Dany. Ghost trotted after him, jumping up on the couch and resting his head on a throw pillow.

“Thanks a lot, buddy,” Jon said, scratching one tufted ear, “she’s pretty great, huh? We got to keep her safe.”

Jon bent and tugged his waterlogged phone out of his jeans pocket. What was it the internet said to do? Rice? A hot lamp? He chose his desk lamp in the living room, a squat thing with a blinding white bulb. He sat, too exhausted to try the TV, too jittery to doze. Selmy’s pistol he laid on the tea table within easy reach, along with the extra magazines.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door to his bedroom clicked open, revealing Dany in all her heat-flushed glory. Jon shot to his feet. That was what she slept in? A powder blue nightgown that fell to mid-thigh, trimmed in white lace clung to her body, those perfect breasts untethered. Predictably, his cock had some very definite opinions about how she looked. No protection in sweatpants. Jon shoved his hand in the pocket, tenting his pants in a hopefully casual gesture.  The air between them felt thick enough to cut.

On impulse, he took her hand and kissed her knuckles. A schmoozy move, but it felt appropriate. A princess and her bodyguard. He liked the vibe. Her cheeks blushed a charming rosy pink.

“The bed’s all made up for you. I’ll take my turn in the shower,” Jon said.

“Ok. Than--”

Jon stopped the words with a fingertip over her lips. So soft. A smile stretched her lips beneath his finger. Jon gulped, overwhelmed by the sparkle her clear violet eyes. She was in his blood now, lodged in his chest.

“I want to keep you safe. You don’t have to thank me for the bleeding shower.” His voice came out all wrong. Harsh, almost angry. Dany didn’t bat an eye. Her posture straightened, defiant.

“I know I don’t have to. But I will. Often and repeatedly, because you deserve to be appreciated.” Given the encounter in the elevator with her ‘thanking’ him, his damned horndog brain ran with the imagery. Well, fuck.

“Suit yourself. Try and get some rest,” he said, ducking for the safety of the bathroom.  

[zerowiter]

Who am I? What am I? Where am I?

Tick-tick

Tick-tick

Tick-tick

Tick-tick

Tick-tick. Tick-tick. Tick...tick. Tick...Tick. Tick...Tick. Tick.......Tick. Tick.......Tick.

Tic-BANG

The Hellhound wakes up in a line all leading to a giant gate leading to a checkpoint. A line where he's one behind to the person on the checkpoint.

He looks up to see a mirror and a sign that says "Welcome to Hell." He sees his face, the only thing about it is, he doesn't know who he is with this face. Strangely, he can't remember his own name.

Hellhound: Who am I?

Demon: Hey, biggest question for us all pal. Now, shut up and get ready, it's your turn next.

The hellhound wanted to turn around, but saw that the person in front of him got into the gates. The person was behind a desk and some bars, it would appear to be to protect the person behind the desk. The demon was a female imp, wearing glasses on her face, clearly close to being tired. She must've been through long hours of the day to go through so many sinners in the line.

Demon receptionist: Hello sir, would you like to know why you are in hell?

Hellhound: Um...yes please, along with who I am.

DR: "Please"? Been a long time since I heard that word.

She types on a keyboard and looks at the screen.

DR: Huh, now that's odd.

Hellhound: What is it?

DR: It only has your sin, height, age, weight, and time of death. But no name or history.

Hellhound: Oh. What is my sin?

DR: Greed, anything else?

Hellhound: My age and time of death?

DR: Age 19, died on the 11th of December. Hmm, very odd.

Hellhound: How so?

DR: This is Feb 13th, how is it that you missed the extermination day?

Hellhound: Extermination day?

The demons behind him begin to stir up some noise for being halted. The hellhound took notice as he turned around.

Hellhound: Could you let me in? I don't want to hold up the line any longer.

DR: Hm, show that kind of emotion here, this place will chew you up the next day.

The door opens up.

Hellhound: I'll umm, keep that in mind. Thank you, miss.

She nodded as he entered hell.

"Okay, so let's think this over. My sin is greed, I'm 19 years old, and I died December 11th. But, no memory beyond that." He thinks as he walks. He sees the Imps, hellhounds, and demons alike as he walks by in the city. He walks through the social areas of malls, clothing stores, and apartments.

"Why can't I remember anything?" he thought. "What could've happened to me?" He finds a spot where he can think, by the time he begins to look at himself more clearly at a broken mirror in an alleyway. His fur black as if it was night or darkness itself, his eyes; yellow-green, different to many other hellhounds he has seen, whose eyes are all red. The clothing he wears is that of an overcoat that has seen better days, a coat within red close to that of a flower. His pants would lead that of a drifter, ragged with some patches on it.

"Well, greed would seem to hit on why it's my sin." He thought as he felt disappointed with his sigh. He then checks his pocket as he leaves the alley, but he bumps into the demon.

Demon: HEY! WATCH IT!

Hellhound: S-sorry.

The demon went on his way as the hellhound went on his way. But he then stops to notice something he felt in his hand, a wallet. He checked his pockets to think it was his but, it was the demon he bumped into. Shocked at what he's done, he was more shocked on how he did it. He didn't realize he even got the wallet till he felt it seconds later.

He thought of returning.

Demon: From afar Hey asshole!

Too late.

The hellhound runs away, the demon gives chase. The hellhound had a few steps ahead of the demon, but he did not give up on chasing him all through the city. All the hellhound could think of is; "Crap Crap Crap Crap Crap" over and over again.

From the ally way to sidewalks, to an alley way again. The hellhound had built enough speed to run up a wall, to climb away from the demon's reach to catch him. The demon tries to reach him again, but the hellhound jumps to another wall. He jumps back, wall to wall, up unto the roof. 

When he reached the top, his heart was pounding like a drummer in a band. He breathed heavily at times, by then, instinctively, he pulled the money out and dropped the wallet to the ally he was in.

Hellhound: Sorry! I-I have no idea how tha-

Demon: When I get my hands on you, I'm sure to know what to do, you little shit!

"O~kay, time to move on." He thought as he ran across the rooftops of the different buildings. Upon the third building he reaches, he put the money away only to feel some sort of block in his overcoat. "The hell?" He puts the money in a different pocket to check what was in the first one. The pocket contained a book, a paperback; 'Arsène Lupin, Gentleman Burglar' .

"The fuck is a book doing in my pockets?" He thought as he continued on from rooftop to rooftop. He then found a spot that could give him some cover to hide in. He began to examine the book to find a clue about himself, but no such luck; no note, code, no clues. "For once, something I can go on, instead of being a nobody." He thought to himself, he then looked at the book. "Gentleman Burglar, never heard of you Lupin. But let's get to know you." He then begins to read the book.

ONE WEEK LATER

Demons search around in the streets, all frantic and mad. An Imp with street punk look that says he's bad, a demon lizard with street clothing and a mark of a gang to show his affiliations with, and a tall female lizard in high heels. All seem to pant heavily from running

Imp: Sonva bitch!

Lizard: How in the hell did you not know that fucker was not the right fucking hellhound!

Imp: Dude, there's like thousands of fucking hellhounds roaming in hell, how in the hell was I supposed to know!?

Lizard(F): Where the hell is that-

Hellhound: No need to speak that kind of language at the moment.

The three turn to see the hellhound that crossed them. A hellhound with black and white fur with red eyes. The overcoat and black shirt. He's holding onto a case in his hand, with the looks of a calm manner to the three. The three demons on the other hand, were very much pissed at him. 

Lizard: You fu-

The hellhound puts the case to the ground and he steps away.

Imp: The fuck?

Hellhound: I was just passing by where your friend took me for the wrong hellhound.

Lizard: So why the fuck did you-

Hellhound: I was trying to find the right hound to give this case to.

The three looked confused on what he said.

Hellhound: What? Is it so hard to imagine that someone is being kind for once?

Lizard(F): Yes.

Hellhound: Well, guess I’m one of those rare breeds in hell to be nice.

The hellhound takes a few steps back from the case to let the Imp grab the case. The Lizard took a look at it and checked the contents within the case.

Hellhound: What’s in there any way?

Lizard: ‘None of your damn business’ is what it is.

Hellhound raises his hand to gesture ‘sorry I asked.’ The Lizard closes the case. The three walked away and so did the hellhound. The three walk back to the spot where they meet the right Hellhound to be dealing with.

Dealer: Case found?

Lizard: Yeah, sorry for the dealy, it just-

Dealer: Don’t care, what matters is that the deal is being done.

Imp: Right.

The Lizard gives the case to the Dealer, he checks the contents.

Dealer: My boss will be pleased to know that the deal went smoothly.

Imp: So will ours.

The imp goes to reach his phone, but he doesn’t find it. He checks and checks and can’t seem to find it on him.

Lizard(F): What's wrong?

Imp: I can’t find the burner.

Lizard: What do you mean you can’t find the burner?

Imp: I can’t find it, it must’ve-Suddenly remembers

Lizard: What is it?

Imp: The other hellhound, he must’ve had it.

Dealer: How?

Imp: He tripped.

Lizard: He what?

The three rushed after to where they last saw the hellhound who gave them back the case. Unfortunately, the hellhound was gone the moment the trio left with the case. True to what the imp had said, the Hellhound did have the burner phone. He had been looking at the phone's call logs, the numbers and names. After he takes a look upon them, he tosses the phone in the gutter. He heads to a clothing shop to get some new pants, the patchy ones were on their last leg.

After the clothing store, he heads back to a small complex he was living in. He enters the lobby meeting the front desk Imp. She was wearing comfortable clothing, a t-shirt that has a female singer name; Verosika. Along with wearing duke of hazards shorts. Her horns point straight up, few scars are shown on her arms and only one on her face. She looks up to greet the hellhound

Hellhound: Hey Betty.

Betty: Hey Lupin.

Lupin: Anything or anyone new come up?

Betty: Why? Looking for a date?

Lupin: Well, if it means you to be my date.

Betty: Three times you asked me that. Three times I will give you the answer.

Lupin: “No”? I know.

Betty: So why do you try?

Lupin: To see if you say ‘yes’.

Betty: Are you insane?

Lupin: Might be the reason why I’m in this boony.

Betty laughed a bit, showing a smile. Lupin smiles as well, he’s enjoying the talk with her.

Lupin: I am sorry to cut the talk short, but by any chance. Did the Landlord come by for any concerns on the electric?

Betty: No, seems that patch job you did seem to be holding in pretty well.

Lupin: Sighs in relief I’m going to hit the bed, y’know my number to call when there is trouble.

Betty: Yeah, yeah.

Lupin heads up the stairs, though only five stories high, he took the stairs to hear what goes on in the complex. One floor had music playing; the Second seemed to have been having some friends over to watch a show; Third had a private engagement with one’s significant other; Fourth was complaining about the noises as usual; Fifth one was the one where very few would take upon. 

Lupin enters his room to see that there is patch work in the ceiling. Lupin’s room was close to that of a Korean style of living. His shelf has a few books on Arsène Lupin, the rest were about electrician guides, various biology of Hell. He goes to take a shower and wash off the day away, when he finished up, he saw his pure black fur self. The make-up he had on to put in the white part to make himself common to the hellhounds, he opens his cabinet to put away his contact of red eyes in a container for them.

He dries up and puts on his night clothing, he eats from what's left in the fridge. He watches a few channels, even if 666 Newscasters are very annoying. He gets a few things to get ahead of the curp on some people. After a while, he heads over to the closet with other clothes he has in there, but behind them is a bed with a small window with a view of hell.

Lupin: Let’s see if I can’t trick all of hell.

[pedroscurls]

Title: Coach Negan (Part 2.)

CHAPTER TITLE: Tryouts

Character(s): Negan and Reader (pre-apocalypse/AU) Summary: The day of tryouts, you and Negan become a bit more familiar with one another through texts. Word Count: 4,341 Warning: SEXUAL TENSION, age difference, and obviously Negan’s language. Author’s Note: This was fun to write. It has a different structure in the beginning, but regardless, I enjoyed it! Also, can y’all feel the attraction between these two? My god. I can’t wait for this story to develop even more ;-)

(GIF Source: @justnegan)

Taylor hounded you all night with the details about open gym. She was expecting to see you come into the apartment with a sullen look, but was surprised to see that you were actually smiling and biting your lower lip which was something that you did when men were involved.

“All right. Spill,” she said, grabbing a slice of pizza.

“Nothing happened. It went great.”

“You’re lying. You met someone. It’s written all over your face!”

You blushed which didn’t help cover up your lie. “The coach… He’s hot. We exchanged numbers.”

“Okay, but how hot?”

“Does it matter? You like women,” you scoffed.

“Hey, I will appreciate any damn good looking person that I see. Man or woman. Now, how hot?”

You cleared your throat. You had gotten close with Taylor since moving in with her and neither of you had boundaries. In fact, you both were much more open with one another than you were with your long-time best friends. You and Taylor could talk about sex and your experiences without her having to judge you and vice versa.

It was a very trusting and open friendship.

“Like… Bend me over your knee and spank me kind of hot,” you blushed.

“Oh my god. I’ve got to see how he looks like. When are tryouts?”

“Taylor, no. You can’t come!”

“Why not? I can check out your potential boyfriend while I look for someone I can take home with me too,” she winked.

“Taylor… Seriously. No.”

“How about I go for support?” she nudged.

“Nope.”

“Well, I’m going regardless. I figured I’d be nice and ask first.”

You rolled your eyes, hearing your phone begin to ring. As you glanced at the number, it wasn’t familiar but you knew it had to be Negan.

“That’s him, isn’t it? Very persistent. I told you. You looked hot,” Taylor laughed.

You stood from the couch and grabbed the plush pillow, tossing it at her head which she easily dodged. “I’m going to go to my room.”

“You going to have some phone sex with him?” she winked.

“Taylor!”

“Okay, okay. I’m done. For now.”

You walked into your room and closed the door, thankful that the walls were sound proof. You entered your bathroom and answered the phone, putting it on speaker as you ran yourself a bath.

“Hello?” you answered.

“Well, fuck. You actually gave me your real number.” It was Negan and you couldn’t help but smile at the sound of his voice filtering your small bathroom.

“What do you take me as? A liar?” you teased.

“No, I just thought you were pullin’ my leg and shit saying that you were just as interested as I am. I mean, we do have a significant age gap and --”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me. I can guarantee you that I am very much into you, age gap or not.”

Negan smirked, “That so?”

“Very much.”

“Well, I just wanted to see if you actually gave me your number. I’m glad you did, doll. I better let you get some sleep,” he said.

“Oh, going so soon?”

He chuckled. “Going to miss me, is that it?”

“That depends. Are you going to miss me?” you smiled, stripping from your clothes and entering the water-filled tub. You set your phone on the ground near the tub and shut your eyes, imagining Negan.

“Oh, doll, I’m already fucking missing you.”

You grinned, sighing contentedly. “That was sweet.”

“Is that surprising?”

“Kind of.”

“I don’t know if I should take that as a fucking insult or not,” he laughed.

“Maybe you should,” you giggled.

“I’ll call you tomorrow or something. I’m sure open gym kicked your ass today,” Negan teased.

“Uh huh. You did say you were going to work us day in and day out.”

“Oh, doll, you don’t even know the half of it.”

You smiled, “Okay, Negan. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Tryouts are tomorrow night. I’ll see you then as well.”

Once the call ended, you settled back into the tub and relaxed. You didn’t expect that attending open gym was also going to be another way for you to meet someone that you couldn’t take your mind off. You had just met Negan and yet, he was occupying all of your thoughts. It was going to be difficult to have him as a coach if you made the team.

The following morning, you were waken up with a few unread messages from Negan. Having a day off from work and school, you decided that it was best to clean around the apartment before you had to try out for the basketball team this evening. However, it was taking a lot in you to be a “good girl” and maintain a neutral conversation with Negan through text.

Negan: Hey. Morning.

Negan: Ready for tonight?

You: That sounds very inappropriate and very wrong. Oh, and good morning.

Negan: You just woke up and your mind is already in the fucking gutter? Shit, girl. What were you dreaming about? ;-)

You: I bet you’d like to know…

Negan: As a matter of fact, I do. Now, go on. Tell me.

You: Maybe after breakfast. I’ve got some chores to do around the apartment before tonight and I can’t have any distractions.

Negan: You callin’ me a distraction? I think that’s a good fucking thing. Must mean that you’ve got me on your mind. Now, why don’t you tell me what it is that’s on your mind, doll?

You: Nope. I’m getting up right now. I probably won’t reply for a while.

Negan: Send me a pic? ;-)

You: That depends. Will you send me one too?

Negan: Of course. It’s only fair, right?

You bit your lower lip as you climbed out of bed. You were clad in a white tank-top and black boyshorts. The tank-top was almost sheer with just the right amount of light, so you walked into the bathroom and faced the camera to the mirror as you stood in front of it. Snapping a photo, you quickly sent it to Negan. You were sure he could see everything from your diaphanous top.

Not a minute later, Negan sent another text.

Negan: Okay. Fuck. I wasn’t actually expecting a picture.

You: Don’t tell me you aren’t going to send me one? :-(

Negan: I’ll send you one right now. When you get it, let me know what the fuck you’re thinking, doll.

You felt your heart beat against your chest at the anticipation of this photo. You kept your finger pressed on the screen to keep it lit and when Negan’s photo finally delivered to your phone, you almost dropped it on the floor.

He was clad in a towel that was hanging low around his hips, revealing the trail of hair that disappeared underneath it. Your eyes drifted to his broad chest, taking note of the hair that littered his beautiful body. You noticed the tattoos that painted his skin and lastly, you saw his dimpled grin with his hair dampened and slicked back.

He was fucking hot.

Negan: Doll? You still there?

You: What? Yeah. Sorry.

Negan: Like what you see?

You: ...Yes. I really do.

Negan: How about you let me come over and I’ll help you clean? ;-)

You: If you come over, we aren’t cleaning.

Negan: Then what is it that we’re going to do, doll?

You: Fuck.

Negan: Shit. Straight to the fucking point. I like that.

You: But sadly, you aren’t coming over.

Negan: And why the fuck not?

You: Well, one: I’m not that type of girl, and two: you’re a coach at the university, Negan. We can’t do that.

Negan: I’m pretty damn good at keeping secrets. As for being that type of girl, who says I think of you that way?

You: We just met. You don’t know me.

Negan: I’d like to.

You: You just want to get in my pants.

Negan: Well, you aren’t lying there, but I’d also like to get to fucking know you, doll.

You: How about you tell me something about you and then I’ll do the same?

Negan: You’re serious?

You: All right then, bye.

Negan: Okay, okay. Fuck. I used to be married.

You: Wow. Pulling out all the stops. What happened?

Negan: She died. Of cancer. Your turn.

You looked at his message. You hadn’t meant to bring up some bad memories. So, instead, you decided to invite him over.

You: I’ve got a thing for older men. Now, come over.

Negan quickly changed into his usual black pants, white t-shirt, and black leather jacket. Slipping into his boots, Negan grabbed his helmet, keys, wallet and phone and headed to your apartment. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he did put some condoms into his wallet just in case.

The ride to your apartment didn’t last more than fifteen minutes. When he pulled up, he glanced at his phone to see if the number matched the one he was directly standing in front of. As he made sure of it, Negan brought a hand up to knock on the door and ring the doorbell twice.

He cleared his throat when you opened the door. You were wearing the same exact thing you were wearing when you sent the photo this morning, except you had put a bra on and your hair was tied into a messy ponytail.

“Hi,” he smiled.

“Come in,” you said, opening the door for him.

Negan removed his helmet and stepped inside, glancing around the apartment for a moment. He turned his attention back to you and allowed his eyes to rake over your body, licking his lips slowly.

“I’m home alone until tonight. Do you want some coffee?”

Negan nodded, “I’d love some.”

He allowed you to walk into the kitchen, deciding to sit at the couch and wait for you. He was being a complete gentleman which wasn’t likely for him. Maybe he thought he was being pitied because you found out about his dead wife; he just hoped that you didn’t bring up the conversation. That wound was still fresh.

After five minutes, you walked back into the living room and handed him a cup of coffee. You set yours down onto the small table nearby and sat next to him, bringing your legs up onto the couch.

“So, you like older men?” he asked, grinning mischievously.

“Maybe,” you teased.

Negan rolled his eyes, sipping carefully at the coffee. He glanced at you and hesitantly reached over. His hand grazed your leg and you cleared your throat, wondering what he was going to do next. However, he pulled back and flashed you the remote, turning his attention onto the television in front of him to power on.

You sighed, grabbing your mug and watching him carefully. When he settled on the news channel, Negan turned his head to look over at you.

“Something on your mind?” he asked.

“Your wife died of cancer… I’m sorry.”

Negan cleared his throat. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?”

You nodded in understanding and reached out to place a hand on his forearm. “I just want to apologize for bringing it up. I didn’t mean to. If I had known --”

“But you didn’t, so it isn’t your fault.”

You bit your lower lip, deciding to drop the conversation and remove your hand from Negan’s arm. Though, he inched closer to you and draped his own arm around your shoulders, glancing down at you to see if it was all right. As you scooted closer, he grinned and relaxed. He didn’t know what was to come about this spontaneous visit, but he enjoyed your presence regardless.

“You said you were going to help me clean,” you began.

“And you said if I did visit, we wouldn’t be cleaning. We would be fucking and since I’m not balls deep inside of you yet, I think we have to change it. Don’t you?” he smirked.

You licked your lower lip, looking up at him with an innocent bat of your eyes. “Hm…”

“Oh, don’t give me that look. It’s just going to make me harder than I already am,” Negan chuckled.

“Y - You’re hard? Already?”

He smirked, “With you dressed like that, doll, it wasn’t that difficult. I mean, why don’t you sit on my lap and have a feel?”

You cleared your throat, dropping your eyes to his pants and noticing the growing bulge beneath the fabric. You weren’t used to this. You didn’t participate in one night stands and you were more of a woman who liked commitment with meaningful sex, but Negan was different. You found yourself wanting to pounce him without a thought of the consequences that may happen afterwards.

Negan had sex appeal and for a woman who liked older men, he was the epitome of what you wanted in a partner. He was confident, even ridiculously so, but he was also humble to an extent. You had just met him, yet you felt like you knew him your entire life.

He was watching you carefully, setting his mug down next to yours. When he sat back down, Negan reached out and placed you onto his lap, straddling him with your legs apart and your throbbing heat dangerously placed above his bulge.

“Feel that?” he asked.

You nodded, licking your lips as you moved your hands to rest on his shoulders. “I do…”

Negan smiled, noticing how your eyes drifted from his face down to his lap. He knew that you were a bit hesitant, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t want this. As he felt the roll of your hips, Negan’s hands on your hips tightened and a small groan escaped his lips.

“You’re going to make me feel like a horny teenage boy and make me cream in my fucking pants if you keep doing that,” he growled.

You giggled, leaning forward to press your lips against his. He hummed in approval, slowly lifting his hands underneath your tank-top to feel your soft skin against his fingertips. Your hips, however, continued to roll against his own. You were grinding against the large bulge that created just the right amount of friction for a moan to escape your lips.

With the unexpected noise, Negan took this opportunity to slide his tongue into your opened mouth. You whimpered, parting your lips even further as your tongues began a passionate tango with one another. Negan cupped a breast, squeezing it into the pit of his palm as you ground your hips against him once more before pulling away.

You both were panting heavily, staring at each other with lust-filled eyes.

“What do you want, doll?”

“I don’t know…” you answered honestly.

Negan nodded in understanding, removing his hand from underneath your tank-top and set you back down next to him. He adjusted himself and tried to think of various things that would make his throbbing erection disappear.

“Not ready yet?” he asked.

You shrugged, “I just -- I meant it when I said I don’t usually do this. I don’t meet a guy and then hook up with them. It’s different. This is different to me.”

“Then I’ll wait,” he replied immediately. “I’ll wait until you’re ready or until you pounce me yourself. It’ll happen.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Well, you keep glancing down at my fucking dick for one… You feel how big it was?”

You widened your eyes, feeling the wetness rush down to your sex, staining your panties. You gently smacked his chest, rolling your eyes nonchalantly. “I’ve had bigger,” you teased.

Negan narrowed his eyes, “Not until you’ve had me, baby.”

You licked your lips slowly, watching as Negan’s eyes drifted to watch. Slowly, he leaned forward and gently nipped at your lower lip, moving his lips across your jawline and down to the side of your neck. His beard grazed your soft skin, causing a quiet moan to leave your lips. Negan was right. You were going to pounce him one way or another.

“Negan…” you moaned, gently resting your hands on his chest and pushing him away slowly.

Negan chuckled, pulling back. “Well fuck, doll. I think I want to hear you moan my name all the goddamn time.”

You looked into his eyes and smiled, leaning forward to hover your lips against his. “And I want your hands all over me, but we’ll have to wait.” You stood from the couch and walked into the kitchen to set your coffee in the fridge to save for later. Negan, however, decided to follow you.

Your back was turned to him and he took this chance to allow his eyes to run over your backside. The boyshorts were riding up and giving him a perfect view of your toned legs and plump backside. With a few strides, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed himself against you from behind.

“You’ve got a nice fucking ass,” he whispered into your ear.

You shivered, pushing back against him which only made him groan in return. His slender fingers pointed downwards and he decided to splay his hands against your front as the tips of his fingers grazed your sex.

“Negan…”

“Fuck, I love the way you say my name.” he smirked, pulling away and running his hands down your butt, squeezing it gently. “And I can’t wait until I can fuck you on all fours so I can see this ass bounce against my dick.”

“Damn it, your choice of words…” you whimpered.

“You like it,” he grinned.

“I do… I really do.”

Negan made it obvious that he was undressing you with his eyes, but he forced himself to abide by your wishes and wait until you were ready. “I better get going. I’ve got a lot to do back at the school before tryouts tonight. I’m seeing you there, right?”

You nodded, “Of course. I’ll be there.”

“Wear something skimpy.”

You laughed, “Maybe in the bedroom.”

“You’re teasin’ me, doll.”

“I know. It’s fun,” you giggled.

“I’d bend you over that counter and slap your ass until it turns pink, so I’d be careful if I were you.”

“That doesn’t sound like a punishment whatsoever, Negan.”

He growled, “You minx. I’m going to leave before I fucking take you where you stand.”

You smiled, blushing deeply. “I’ll see you later.”

Negan walked to the front door with his helmet in hand, turning around to wrap a free arm around your waist. He pulled you roughly against his chest and leaned down to kiss you slowly, yet passionately. When he heard you whimper, he pulled away and winked.

“See you tonight.”

Later that night, Taylor accompanied you to your tryouts. You had told her what transpired while she was at work and was disappointed that she missed the show. Now, she couldn’t wait to see what Negan looked like if it was causing you to break your own rule about having meaningless, amazing sex.

“He must be really hot if you don’t mind not being in a relationship to have sex with him,” Taylor said, driving to the school.

“He is. His mouth too… My god, Taylor. He’s older, much older, but he’s sexy.”

Taylor grinned, “I can’t wait to see how this stud looks. He needs my approval first.”

“Of course,” you laughed.

Once she parked the gar in the parking lot of the gym, you climbed out and draped your sports bag over your shoulder. You could hear the dribbling of balls from outside and loud chatter, but you tried to calm your nerves.

As you walked in, your eyes immediately searched for Negan. He wasn’t there. You sighed disappointingly and sat at the bleachers with Taylor, pulling on your basketball shoes.

“Okay. One girl’s checking me out and I am certainly doing the same,” Taylor grinned.

“Taylor, stop,” you rolled your eyes and smiled.

“What? I can’t help that I’m just so irresistible,” she winked.

“All right, all right. I’ll let you work your magic, but only after tryouts, okay?”

She smiled, “You’re the best.”

Suddenly, Negan entered the gym wearing a white t-shirt and black sweatpants with tennis shoes. He looked much more laid back than he did back at your apartment, but the only thing you were imagining was his naked form and the feel of his bulge from earlier.

“Holy fuck,” Taylor said. “I think I just became straight,” she teased.

You rolled your eyes, gently punching her arm. “Hey, he’s mine.”

“I’m only joking, but he is sexy. He’s got this rugged look going on and he’s totally eye-fucking you right now,” Taylor commented. “He’s checking your ass out.”

You bit your lower lip, glancing over your shoulder to see Negan’s eyes trained on you. He winked before turning his attention elsewhere.

“I think he found his MVP,” Taylor joked.

“I can’t believe I actually let you come with me,” you sighed, stretching your limbs.

“Oh come on. You know you feel a bit better with me here.”

“You’re right,” you smiled.

Once you heard the blow of the whistle, you waved to Taylor and joined the group that surrounded Negan. His eyes swept the different faces, but he always made sure to pay extra attention to you.

Throughout the tryouts, you put your all into every drill. You didn’t only want to impress Negan, but you also wanted to show your future teammates that you were just as good and able to play alongside them. By the third water break, you were dripping from sweat and you decided to pull off your tank-top to remain clad in a sports bra, shorts, and basketball shoes.

Taylor, however, winked at you. “Taking that off because you’re hot or because you’re trying to get someone’s attention?”

“Taylor…”

“Okay, trying to get someone’s attention. Got it,” she laughed.

“I’m going to kill you when we get home.”

“Sounds exciting,” she teased.

With the latter half of tryouts in tow, you managed to make a few new friends. They were nice and very humble about their skill which made it easy to get along with them. You didn’t like when people were cocky about their ability to play sports. After the last scrimmage, Negan called the tryouts to an end and notified each and every one of them that the results would be up within the next few days, if not tomorrow.

As the girls dispersed, you exchanged numbers with a few of them and even brought the same girl that was ogling Taylor back to the bleachers where she was sitting. They quickly hit it off and you smiled; you never understood how easily it was for Taylor to act normal in front of someone that thought she was attractive.

“I’m grabbing dinner with her. Do you mind driving back home?” Taylor winked.

“Sure, yeah. Be safe, okay?”

“Always. Oh, and good job out there. You were kicking ass,” she smiled, giving you a tight hug before following the girl out of the gym.

You sighed, looking around the empty court and placing Taylor’s keys in your bag. Now that you were alone, you grabbed a basketball and dribbled it expertly, walking to the hoop and taking a shot. When it made a quiet swish, you heard the sound of clapping. Quickly turning your head, you noticed Negan with an amused grin on his lips.

“Good job tonight,” he said. “I think you’re in.”

“I hope you’re saying that because I really am good and not because you want me,” you sighed.

Negan rolled his eyes, walking towards you. “Believe me. You’re going to be our secret weapon. No one in the league will know who you are, doll. Once we put you in, you’re going to beat the holy hell out of each team. You’re the reason why we may make it to the fucking championships this year,” he answered honestly.

You blushed, biting your lower lip. “You mean that?”

“Whole-fucking-heartedly. I wouldn’t lie to you, even if I wanted to get into your pants. I told you I’d wait and I will do just that,” he smiled. “You heading home?”

“Yeah. I’m in need of a shower.”

Negan smirked, taking in your features. “Do you know how difficult it was for me to keep it cool while you were wearing just that? I mean, watching you remove your tank-top was one thing, but seeing you play so fucking well in that get-up? I’m practically suffering from a case of fucking blue balls.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “You and your colorful language…”

“It’s true. Help me with my problem?” he winked.

“And how do you propose I do that?”

“Just because we can’t have sex, doll, doesn’t mean that there aren’t other ways to come,” he smirked.

“Good point, but still, I’m not ready.”

He sighed, nodding in understanding. “Well, I can’t control what I feel around you, so maybe you’ll have to deal with my vulgarity and my dick that is so eager to meet you.”

“Fine with me. You headin’ home?”

Negan nodded. “Yeah. My dick is currently throbbing at the sight of you, so I’ve got to reacquaint myself with my hand.”

You laughed quietly, following him out of the gym. “Well, I hope you have fun with that, Negan.”

“It’d be better if someone helped,” he winked.

“All in due time… I promise.”

At Taylor’s car, you unlocked it and placed your bag inside. Negan looked down at you and tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear, kissing your forehead lightly.

“Drive safe,” he said softly.

“You too…”

“Call me later, all right?”

You nodded, hugging him tightly. “I’ll talk to you later, Negan.”

“In all seriousness, doll, you did a really good fucking job tonight. You impressed me more so than you did the other night. I’m sure the other girls feel the same way,” he nodded.

“Thank you, Coach Negan.”

He growled, “Tease.”

You laughed, “I’ll call you.”

“I’ll be waiting, doll.”

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[thetaekswoon]

DAY6 Sungjin| Boyfriend AU

If you’ve been following my blog, recently you may have noticed my slight obsession with Day6, specifically Sungjin.  That’s only because I just suddenly realized that he is completely and utterly perfect in every way.  Like Jae was my bias, but now, who can be sure.

NSFW! 

(btw I unintentionally wrote this AU with a female reader in mind, I usually try so hard to keep my AUs gender neutral so all my readers and enjoy them, this just kind of happened so I’m sorry for my male readers)

Sungjin:

Sungjin is the sophisticated, mature, and sometimes slightly dorky, boyfriend that your parents absolutely adore.

  . like really the first time they meet him they are absolutely floored by his table manners and general politeness as soon as you got home they called and asked you when he would propose.

Flat out said, “I have deep regards for your daughter.” to your parents and you will never stop making fun of him for saying that to them, it wasn’t like you hadn’t said I love you yet or anything he could have just said that, but instead he just got all nervous and cute.

The kind of boyfriend who is super gentle and will protect you from all harm and is generally a gentleman, always holds open the door for you and makes sure you’re walking on the inside of the sidewalk.

HIS EYEBROWS ARE THICKER AND MORE BEAUTIFUL THAN YOURS WILL EVER BE YOU JUST GOTTA ACCEPT THAT HONEY.

The kind that will cook you dinner and bring home fancy wines for you two to try together.

Sungjin enjoys surprising you a lot for dinner and with dates and the such.  Sometimes you’ll just come home after a long day at work and he’ll be there in your apartment wearing an apron with a wooden spoon in hand, watching something like the Food Network trying to replicate some of the fancy recipes just to surprise you.

The only thing is that his surprise dinners are always either wonderful or a complete bust (sometimes you just need to heat up some ramen after only one bite, rip poor baby Sungjin he tried so hard).

,,, but you are always thankful that he put in so much effort to surprise you and be all romantic and stuff.

Boyfriend Sungjin will just text you on his off days and it will say something like ‘come hang out with me, I’m bored and I miss you <3′ so you go and show up at the studio or at his apartment, wherever he is tbh, and he’s there wearing a beanie with his guitar.

He’ll give you a quick kiss and then pats at a spot next to him for you to sit down and chill, and then he’ll serenade you.

Vinyl kinda man, if you know what I mean.

Leather couches and orchids on the living room window sil.

, but like no matter how mature Sungjin is he still has a carton of chocolate milk in the fridge.  It’s Tru Moo btw.

Before you two move in together there is already no real system of boundaries in place, he has a key to your apartment and vice versa.

And Sungjin also really likes to just show up unannounced and sleepover, and his motives are rarely sexual in those instances, if he was horny and had motives you would know.

nah, tbh Sungjin just loves falling asleep cuddled up next to you, your body curled into his.  Will totally rub your back and sing you to sleep...

He’s just so loving and wants to show you all of his affection, but has a hard time expressing it vocally because he doesn’t think a simple “I love you” or “I’m in love with you” cuts it, so he tries to make up for it with all of his actions.

And like he’s so romantic and stuff, but doesn’t even make a big deal about it because he thinks that’s what a boyfriend is supposed to do and act like, like it’s common courtesy.

Makes chocolate covered strawberries to specifically feed them to you... naked... in bed... looking like Adonis (after sexy times lol)

Going to the beach together when the weather is warm enough, and seeing him in just his swim trunks.

He’s kinda like a kid at the beach, splashing you with the water, wanting you to bury him in the sand.

Primarily just wears button ups with nice pants, looks super mature and so cute.

He loves nothing more than seeing you in his clothes, especially the morning after, and he always hands you his beanies/button ups/tees subtly giving you the signal that he wants to see you wearing whatever it is soon.

Sungjin rarely moves in his sleep, so you almost always wake up still in his arms and it’s just so warm and safe feeling (also his biceps are really nice whoops)

Takes you on cute dates that seem simple, but he really put a lot of thought into them.  Like the time he took you to a boardwalk where you just spent a few hours window shopping and holding each other’s hands, but then after the sun began to descend he went back to the car to grab a towel so you two could sit down on the beach and watch the sunset together.  After that he booked reservations at a seafood restaurant back on the boardwalk.

The kind of boyfriend to take you out for a classy and expensive dinner and then fuck you good.

Giver >>>>> Receiver 

I feel like Sungjin is more of a vanilla dom that occasionally likes to spice things up in the bedroom with the whole daddy thing (only in the bedroom, not as a lifestyle, though if you really want to rattle him or leave him embarrassed you whisper in his ear and call him daddy in public or in front of the boys)

*cough cough* romantic daddy *cough cough*

, he likes to be in control most of the time, but isn’t super into the idea of bdsm or anything besides more interesting positions

, whips and toys are a little intimidating for him to use on you.

Not going to lie, Sungjin doesn’t realize just how good at sex he is, especially when he goes down on you.

HE’S SO GOOD AT FOREPLAY HOW DOES HE NOT REALIZE THIS.

 tbh he is just responding to all of the noises you make, and no matter how much you praise him for it afterwards he just gets a little shy and blushy, like YOUR WETNESS IS ALL OVER HIS CHIN AND HE IS JUST SO HUMBLE and always is trying new things with his tongue that he think will feel good,

spoiler alert! THEY DO!

Like your legs are always shaking the next morning, so much so that you have to sit down, and he’s just so innocent and will say something like, “Oh sorry did I do that?  Sorry babe do you want me to cook breakfast today then?” 

Boobs >>>>> Butt

He’s the kind of man who says that he’s not that into blow jobs because he feels like it’s degrading to the woman, and actually means it.

It’s just frustrating sometimes because he makes you feel so amazing all of the time, you just want to make him feel good too, and if you insist that you really really want to go down on him he might be willing to compromise into 69ing you... lowkey is really into 69ing because he gets off giving you pleasure.

Though when you are able to fully convince him into letting you suck him he’ll forget all about how he thinks it’s wrong making you take him like that, and will become super dominant,,, like he’ll grab onto your hair and grab onto the back of your neck harshly to hold you against him.

the noises he makes,,... heavenly

not the kind of guy to care whether or not you shave/wax, so after you start becoming more comfortable with your relationship, sexual or not, you can just stop shaving so regularly and he won’t mind one bit.

As for PDA, I don’t see Sungjin as someone who feels restrained showing his affection towards you in public, but at the same time he doesn’t want to put on a show for random people and let them into your private life together.

  so he’ll be more than willing to hold your hand, wrap his arms around your waist, kiss your forehead, cheeks, and your lips, but he would never make out with you on a public bench or anything.  And public sex is just too risky and unhygienic for him to even consider.

However, once you guys went to a party that Jae was throwing and you two got surprisingly drunk off of all the wine, and hardcore made out in front of the whole party,,,  everyone has it on video.

Loves to shower with you.  Likes to wash your hair for you, and massage your shoulders in the bath tub.  Likes softer smells like lavender and shea butter.  (together you discovered sex in a bathtub is just too messy, the water gets everywhere, but sex in the shower... hm... Sungjin really enjoys that)

Ok so I can lowkey see Sungjin being a really good mechanix.  Like just imagine him wearing jeans and a black tee, leaning over into the open hood of your car working his magic or whatever and sweating.  idk maybe that’s just my American fantasy.

Sungjin is not that good at dancing in clubs no he’s amazing (not that you guys even go to those) and in general but for some reason really damn good at ballroom dancing.  Even if it’s just in your living room he is able to sweep you off your feet and into a waltz or something.

Sungjin has the record player on, with the lights dimmed, he dips in to give you a kiss, and it’s just so romantic...,,, he clutches you so close and tight.

On Saturday morning he likes to spread out on the couch in just his underwear and socks, and tbh he’s such a mess in the mornings, but a cute mess that you can’t help but snuggle up to him and watch whatever he has on the TV.

  his bare skin is hot against your, it takes the chill out of your bones and makes you feel sleepy again.

Coffee over tea guy, but doesn’t really mind either.  He loves waking up to the smell of coffee, and if you went out of your way to make bacon he might cry tears of joy.

For some reason I see Sungjin really into gummy bears, idk, and he only likes the green and clear ones and feeds the red ones to you.

(he likes them so much that he would make gummy bear Jell-O shots in college lol)

Not too keen on having children anytime soon, but would marry you in a heartbeat.

In fact he’s already talked to you about this as being the next big step in your relationship many times before, that or getting a dog.

Would definitely want to adopt a pet rather than buy one from a breeder.  I also see Sungjin as a big dog person so he’d probably want some kind of lab/hound mix.  (You might even be able to convince him to get a pitbull because he values loyal dogs like labs and retrievers)

omg this is me on a rant but just like imagine Sungjin owning a gray pitbull, sorry I tear up.  IMAGINE going on walks with your dog and Sungjin and him taking the dog into the studio and letting it chill in the recording studio while he works.

Ok ok so you guys need to get a dog asap.

tbh the perfect boyfriend that will protect you and is just a bit possessive, but just to the extent where it’ll make your heart flutter.

<><> do not edit/remove anything from the original post <><> this AU belongs to me <><>

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #69

“suicide is painless.”

do you like getting hickeys? yeah, honestly. love bites are some sexy shit. oral, do you like oral? i enjoy receiving it, but i do not like giving it. i don't care how clean you may be, sorry, i don't want your dick in my mouth. because of this, i didn't like receiving it to begin with because i didn't want to receive something i didn't want to give, i wanted to be fair. there were occasions jason just really seemed to want to do it tho so it just happened. he was such a fucking gentleman, he was always concerned about keeping me pleased. if you could see any musician live, front row, who would you choose? METALLICA OKAY plan on getting drunk or high tonight? i'm drinking right now actually, but i'm only having one. so no, i won't get drunk. do you have any best friends that you only know online? i've had two, but neither really talk to me anymore, sooo. is it okay for people to cheat if it’s only online? uhhh, no? are you interested in anime? yeah, sure. do you have a favorite youtuber or do you not watch much youtube? RHETT!! AND!! LINK!! SLASH!! G!! M!! M!!! have you ever given a tattoo before and would you like to? no, and i wouldn't because i have an essential tremor. i'd mess it up. have you ever made out in a hot tub? lmao i wish. ever peed in your pants after the age of 10? i'm sure i have in my sleep once because i dreamt of peeing lmao what was the name of the last video game you played? i was trying to play "the last of us," but my ps3 was too far gone. what is your favorite elvis song? "hound dog," probably. what is the last tattoo you got? "ohana" on my right collarbone what would you say is your guiltiest pleasure? honestly occasional fantasies about certain things with my ex lmao do you let your pets on your furniture? of course. they live here. do you enjoy your job? if unemployed, are you content being so? i am not content being unemployed, no. it's just debatable whether i'm capable or not, as at my past two jobs, working with so many strangers, i lived in a constant panic attack that came to a head as puking. so now i'm trying to find a job with animals... what is something you have given a lot of thought to lately? whether or not to maintain abstinence. what is your favorite christmas movie? jim carrey's "how the grinch stole christmas" what do you think of your best friend’s ex? not much to think. it was puppy-love. so much so he turned out to be gay. are you biracial? i am not. be honest, does the person you like actually deserve you? or are they actually not worthy of your affections? he deserves a goddess would you ever wear black lipstick? do you know anyone who does? whenever i wear makeup, i'm liable to wear black lipstick. if you wear eye shadow, do you put on a dark color or a light? and if you wear mascara, what color is it? always black. what was the last alcoholic beverage you consumed? mike's hard lemonade, black cherry. that was last night; i got too tired to finish the survey last night. are you any good with kids? not especially, no. i don't know what to do with them. shit you not, there have been multiple occasions where my niece (she's two) has come up to me, looking for a hug, and i almost pet her on the head like an animal. i just. don't know what to do with children, i'm really awkward around them. have you seen the last person you kissed without a shirt on? yes wow very good a+++ do you like watching jerry springer? oh my god, NO. so fucking dramatic. have you ever fallen for your ex’s best friend? nope. pretty sure one of jason's best friends hates my guts anyway, because i "made him miserable for three years." yeah fucking right. plenty of proof otherwise. have you ever unbuttoned your ex’s pants? yeah. true story, skinny jeans are fucking hard to get off. have you ever deleted your facebook, then brought it back? nope, had no reason to. have you ever kissed someone who smokes weed? not at the time when we were dating, no. i knew he smoked weed once in a blue moon, but i made him stop entirely. i wasn't dating anyone involved with drugs. what’s your favorite brand of peanut butter? don't have one, actually. do you have a thing for shy/awkward hot guys? according to my history, no. what’s your favorite lunchables meal? the nachos one! have you ever eaten at golden corral? yeah. it was honestly gross. do you ever decide to just dance crazy to a favorite song? no. another thing i just haven't done since j's been gone. i feel stupid doing it. have you ever watched fireworks with someone you loved? i wish. :( are you good at memorizing phone numbers? not in the slightest. i don't even know mine. do you like men who have a sensitive side? i only like guys with a sensitive side. like damn, you need emotions. have you ever used glitter as one of your makeup items? i've used glittery eyeshadow before, and i've also used glitter in dance classes. do you keep a memo book/agenda? i fucking read that as "meme book" lmao. but no. is there a song in a different language that you can sing? multiple german ones. what was the most expensive thing someone bought you? i'm certain it was my gaming laptop j got me. it's like... a couple ks in price, i think. how do you feel about bands that use pyrotechnics in live concerts? hype as fuck, just don't pull a james hetfield. is there anyone on your facebook friends list that you dislike? why do you dislike them? no, because if i dislike you, i wouldn't have you as a friend. there is, however, one friend that annoys me sometimes, but i still care for her. she's just... liberal to a very pushy degree and shares some nasty, sexual shit sometimes. you can't disagree with her. have you ever tasted baby food? how about pet food? i'm sure i did as a baby...? and lmao i actually ate an orange-flavored guinea pig yogurt treat once. shit wasn't that bad. ;3; have you ever thought about what you might call your children? or, if you already have children, what are their names? my future daughter WILL be alessandra quinn and my husband will fucking like it lol. i can't pick between severin, vincent, and luther for a boy... where is the person you would most like to see, or most like to be with? hm. monday morning. guessing school or work, or he may even still be in bed. find 5 people on your facebook friends list, whose name begins with K. who are these people, and how did you meet them? kelly: friend from art class in high school; katie: half-sister, we don't talk much, but we're very alike; katelynn: jason's friend jacob's ex-girlfriend, very sweet girl; katherine: i'm pretty sure we met via youtube through a shared love of meerkats; kathleen: high school friend whom i shared various classes with, i miss her soooo much. is there a person that you can go to in sweats, and still feel comfy? lmao. everyone. do you think the last person you kissed is nice? i wouldn't have dated him otherwise. how many people of the opposite sex do you fully trust? none... or maybe one. how far away is the last person you kissed? if he's at work? literally like two minutes. we passed by his work yesterday, and i checked for his car. it was there. took a while to get over that, just knowing i was in the same place as him... have you ever had a teacher that was like a second mom to you? definitely mrs. worthington, who i just call miss tobey. she was my high school physical science teacher, and the class she had was HORRID. i was the one and only student who would stand up to the class and demand they give her respect. after i did that once, we just... clicked. i was going through a tough time accepting my parents' divorce, and she was always there for me. we got so close that now, even out of school, she visits sometimes. she even takes me out to eat sometimes. she is a wonderful lady, i love her. have you ever been in a school talent show? what for? no, but my best friend has. i smiled watching her sing and dance a little bit. (: was the last book you read for fun, or was it for some type of assignment? neither, really. it was more like the only thing to do. i was reading "the maze runner" at the hospital. would you prefer to go out on a fancy date or just chill in his house? either, honestly. both are fun. (: do you enjoy long car rides? yes! so long i can sit in the front and blare my music honestly, lmao. do you ever wish you could live on a farm? not particularly. i wouldn't like all the maintenance. do you know how to play poker? i used to. have you ever had an ear infection? i had them so frequently as a kid i had to get tubes put in my ears. never had one since. what color is your favorite bra? baby pink what was the name of your first boyfriend? if you wanna count the first person who ever had the title, aaron. have you ever dated someone more than three years older than you? for less than a day. have you ever dated someone a year younger than you? aaron was younger than me, yes. have you ever dated someone of another race? again, for less than 24 hours. do you enjoy eating veggies? lmao i'm a pure-blooded american, fam. are you attracted to the last person you exchanged numbers with? no. i see him as a brother. what do you think of country music? it's just not my cup of tea. i don't like the sound of it, too twangy. do you think pigs are cute or ugly? SO CUTE!!! did any of your friends lose their virginity before they were 16? if so, did you feel pressured to do the same? i'm sure some have, but that's not my business? and i mean maybe very mildly, but not really. what kind of home would you like? i'm very open to possibilities, honestly. i don't really have a "dream home," but i guess i can say i'd like a wooden home in the woods near a stream, a lot like my uncle's house. did you ever build furniture forts as a child? sure as hell did! what kind of dog is your favorite? i really like akita inus, beagles, chow-chows, pit bulls... have you ever considered dropping acid? nahhh. describe your music style: just gimme some heavy metal, babe. \m/ are you close to any of your aunts/uncles? not particularly. have you ever had a seizure? thank christ no. do you plan on losing weight any time soon? i'm trying to now. i'm eating a lot less. what was your gpa in high school? above 4.00, that's all i know. it was pretty darn high. dunno what happened lmao if you have a favorite television show, who’s your favorite character? ehhh i have a couple i consider favorites. fullmetal alchemist: probably envy. supernatural: dean. american horror story: tate. sherlock: the man himself, i assume. what is your favorite book series, if you have one? "warriors," but i haven't read it in years. have you ever had a parasite before? no. i'd fucking die. they're just so gross. do you enjoy listening to older music? sure. a good portion of what i listen to is from my parents' childhood/teen years. have you been to disney world before? yes! c: have you ever met someone who was really racist before? lmao welcome to the south. if you could be a disney character for a day, who would you be? hmmm. kinda hard to pick when you don't know how their happily ever after is. i assume snow white with how close she is to animals. would you ever want to swim with sharks? honestly, no. like i think i'm pretty educated about sharks and know attacks are VERY rare, but i could be that statistic, y'know? what was the last thing that made you laugh?  probably something chelsea said/did. ever used a bow and arrow?  i haven't. occupations you wanted to be when you were a kid?  archaeologist, veterinarian, writer, artist, movie director tea or coffee? both are gross. opinions on sex before marriage?  if you follow my surveys regularly, you know my opinion on this has been changing. basically, if you know you love that person and you know your body is ready, do it. just be safe doing it. who was the hottest teacher you ever had? LAAAAAWD YAAAAAA'LL WHO WAS THAT ONE BAND TEACHER. i think his name was mr. serena, but regardless, he was hot as FUCK. have you ever walked on a beach at night? i have. (: mom didn't know where we were tho and called the police... whoops lmao. when was the last time you baked something? did it turn out good?   brownies i assume, like a month back, and they were fine. do you think some of the stuff we’re taught in school is useless?   yes.  fuck common core. why do we put the clocks one hour forward or one hour back?   i remember learning this in high school...  some president, can't remember which, did it for eco-friendly reasons. what song really gets to your heart and inspires you?   "life won't wait" by ozzy osbourne, probs.  i love that song. do you have fireflies around where you live, or do you wish you did?   we do! what commercial do you wish they kept playing? why do you like it?   the one about contacts omg where the dude goes "MY BRAND" and it's all over-dramatic and shit. what current commercial is your favorite?   "I SAWED THIS BOAT IN HALF!" fucks me up omg if you could of played in any movie, what movie would it be?   ohhh "alice in wonderland!" did you used to do easter egg hunts when you were a child?   omg yaaaas what would you rather live by: highway, train tracks or airport?   train tracks.  i did as a child, so it's nostalgic for me. do you believe that ‘hate’ really is a strong word?   duh. if you have facebook, are you guilty of fanning countless things?   lmao when facebook was new-ish, i went on a fanning spree from friends' pages, ha... as a kid, did you love playing on neopets?   heeeell yeah, boi!  loved neopets!  i always wanted a plushy of the dragon neopet. do you often get bitten by mosquitoes, or rarely ever?   rarely ever.  meanwhile, my sister gets DEVOURED.  i've heard it relates to your blood type? what’s your opinion on plastic surgery? ever thought about getting it?   i honestly think it's quite the waste of money, like... you lived until adulthood with whatever the problem area is, why can't you live longer and spend your money elsewhere?  i haven't thought of getting it, but i don't judge people who do.  i honestly do understand what it's like to have a part of you you don't like. do you own any feathers?   blue jay feathers, yes. do you have a skype?   i do, but i like.  never use it.  only ever to talk to sam. the last person you had a thing with comes up to you and says “i’m sorry”?   i'd start crying, say i forgive you, hug him, kiss him, just honestly lose it, but in a good way. where was the last place you had a romantic dinner?   i couldn't tell you, but probably olive garden or ruby tuesday's. do you get mad when your current bf/gf talks about an ex?   i don't have a current bf, but when i was with jason, i could imagine me getting mad if he talked too much about rachel, yeah.  like if he randomly brought up something with her, i wouldn't wanna hear it.  now if we were talking about something that simply related to an ex, that's fine. do you know anybody who was abused?   i do. do you start feeling really gross if you don’t shower after one day?   no?  it's just one day. do you pee a lot more after you’ve drank a caffeinated beverage?   doesn't everyone? waiting for something?   yes, actually.  jason got my letter this morning; mom stamped it and put it in his mailbox.  the letter included my contact information "just in case," and i'm, y'know, hoping for a phone call, facebook friend request... something. who is your last received call from?   an unknown number, so i didn't answer.  honestly worried it was jason. how do you pronounce the name Sean when you come across it in text… “shawn” “sheen” or “shane”?   "shawn" wouldn’t it be EXTREMELY weird if someone fell in love with you after reading your answers to this survey?   i don't believe you can fall in love that easily. who is the next person you’ll hold hands with?   my mom. have you ever pole danced before?   what is something you used to be afraid of, but aren’t anymore?   ummmm.  i'm not sure. do you believe your dreams have any real meaning?   not really.  usually. what do you think of guys who ask girls out over via text message or internet?   i mean i'd prefer to be asked in person, but i have no real opinion.  if you're too shy to do it face-to-face, i understand. do you drink more apple or orange juice?   orange do you recall the first time that you learned the truth about sex?   yep, 5th grade.  i was very confused lol. do you find extreme body builders’ bodies to be attractive?   extreme?  no. does it bug you when people go ‘mhm’ all the time when you’re talking?   no, i do that.  it's to indicate i'm following what you're saying. are your parents religious?   they're both catholic what is your favorite hostess/little debbie snack?   devil cakes, i think. do you find it rude when you offer someone something and they decline?   no? do you think benedict cumberbatch is hot?   i find him relatively attractive favorite disney princess?   maybe jasmine.  my fave was ariel when i was a kid. does your sibling have a significant other?   tiffany: no clue.  katie: no clue.  misty: yes.  bobby: no clue.  ashley: yes, married.  nicole: yes, and i hate him. do you have any american girl dolls in your house?   probably not anymore, but maybe?  nicole and i had our own when we were younger. have you ever gotten in trouble at school for wearing revealing clothes?   OKAY.  OKAY.  STORY TIME.  no, i never wore anything "revealing."  however, i once wore a cami beneath a see-through, floral mesh black shirt that had sleeves, so my arms were covered, as demanded.  however, this random-ass staff member LOST her SHIT one day when i wore it??  despite NO ONE ever mentioning anything the maaaany times i'd worn it before??? are you borrowing books from anybody at the moment?   i have two books that're actually jason's, but i guess i'm not exactly "borrowing" them anymore. have your parents ever questioned your virginity?   i know mom has, no idea about dad. roleplaying is super lame, agreed?   no??  it's very imaginative and freeing, honestly.  i've been a forum rper since like... 2007, but i've never done it and am not interested in doing it in real life.  irl, i'd be waaaay too fucking awkward. how're you feeling right now?   i'm feeling nostalgic and stressed.  worried.  as i said earlier in the survey, jason should've gotten his letter by now.  i doubt he's read it yet as he's probs at school or work, but when he gets it... i just wish i was a fly on the wall seeing what he's going to do.  tear it up and throw it out, or read it.  i've just never felt so close to having him back... y'know?  this is my last-ditch effort, and i just pray, i pray, it'll pay off.  no one knows just how much i love him, and how far i'd go for him.  just... damn, i'd do it all.  i just want him back. does/did either of your parents serve in the military?   no. is there anybody you’re not ashamed to tell anything to?   jason are you prone to illness?   not at all. are you on birth control?   only for period cramps.  mine were murderous beforehand. how bad are heartbreaks?   the worst things in the world. has a song ever given you an orgasm?   LMAOOOOOOO that's possible? have you ever made out in your room? last time?   plenty of times... but i don't remember the last... if the last person that you kissed said they wanted to marry you, what would you say?   i'd be too busy crying to talk. do you like your eyes?   i wish they were bigger. are you attracted to the last person that you fell in love with?   physically?  yeah.  emotionally?  obviously. do you have a big butt?   not at all.  it's p flat honestly. would you be a good salesperson?   NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO do you like hot sauce? if yes, what do you usually put it on?   YAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAS.  mainly hot wings, obv. can you do the 'emo hair flip'?   I WISH do you know anyone that has dimples?   me! would you ever make out in front of your best friend?   probably mildly, tbh.  like i can imagine french kissing in front of her, but no more than that. anything physically wrong right now?   yeah.  my stomach hurts, i'm twitching a lot, and my heartbeat is hectic.  my anxiety's high as fuck right now.  i feel like sobbing. ever had sex under water?   welp, that's on my bucket list now. the last person you kissed on the lips said that you were the only one they wanted, would you believe them?   if he left ashley, sure.  i'd believe him. you're having twins. what's your first reaction?   i'd honestly probably just say something like "well damn" or likewise... i don't want to have to carry more than one child at once, really.  i'd go through with it of course, but w/e. did your first love love you back?   i hope... do you have scars on your wrists?   no.  they faded long ago. do you like fedoras?   lmao okay imma get so much shit for this.  but yes.  jason wore one sometimes, and shit it was sexy.  and no, i do not like fedoras just because i associate them with my ex; i actually liked them before i knew him. have you ever wanted to get drunk and get your mind off everything?   i have.  and i did. is there a band you like with amazing music but a bad vocalist?   i personally think dave mustaine from megadeth is the prime example.  his voice is horrid, yet simultaneously, enjoyable?  like i wouldn't want another vocalist for the band. is there a band/artist who has strange lyrics but you love them anyway?   rammstein.  they've got some pretty whacky songs. does your optimism sometimes hurt you?   lmao what optimism? have you ever painted a piece of furniture?   yes.  i helped jason paint his desk and dresser. do you believe the fortunes in fortune cookies?   no. what do you prefer more: waffles or pancakes?   pancakes.  they're softer. did you love playing hide and seek as a kid?   i did. got plans after you finish this?   honestly crying rn so probably keep crying. did you ever dream that you had a baby?   multiple times. have you ever been in a beauty pageant?   ha ha fuck that. did you sleep alone?   lmao when don't i? does your best friend approve of the last person you kissed?   she fucking hates him. where is the last person you kissed at this moment?   boy, wouldn't i like to know. describe your dream girl/guy?   jason.  there's your fucking description. been arrested? for what?   nope. tell us the story of your first kiss?   go read an old survey.  told it before.  just know i want to kiss him again.  for hours. do you sleep with stuffed animals?   no... but i honestly think i'm going to grab rebel (meerkat from j) tonight.  i need him, and i guess the closest i can get to him is something from him. how many stuffed animals do you think you have?   honestly, probably over 100.  they're stuffed in a closet, lol. favorite character from finding nemo?   dory was my babe. how long does it typically take you to get over people?   apparently, i never do. are you stressed out?   i'm fucking hyperventilating on tears and can't see what i type, what do you think??? so tell me one interesting thing about yourself.   i can somehow obsess over a man who doesn't want me to the point of ruining my life.  cool, right? do you own a trenchcoat?   fam i wish. have you ever owned a tire swing?   no. do you have a nervous twitch?   i do. are you currently listening to music?   "numb" by linkin park.  i'm having a classics binge. is it easy to get a job where you live?   we have the highest unemployment rate in the state.  so.  guess. is your signature legible?   it is. when was the last time you cried because you were angry?   i'm crying on and off right now and part of it is from anger, so... is there an animal that scares you?   WHALE SHARKS LIKE FUCK THAT are you any good at video games?   i'd like to think so. has a jehovah’s witness ever showed up on your doorstep?   omg yeah. do you have a step parent?   yes, but i don't refer to her as "mom."

okay sorry this is shorter than usual but honestly i’m a wreck right now and need to go sob with my mom.

[ulyssesredux]

Circe

(Levitates over heaps of slain, in a bidder's face. From a corner the morning I read of a tower Buck Mulligan, in a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the commonplaces of a chair. The navvy, swaying his hat smartly on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face. From Six Mile Point, Flathouse, Nine Mile Stone follow the footpeople with knotty sticks, hayforks, salmongaffs, lassos, flockmasters with stockwhips, bearbaiters with tomtoms, toreadors with bullswords, greynegroes waving torches. Mastiansky and Citron approach in gaberdines, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a forefinger. Runs to Stephen. He takes breath with care and goes forward slowly towards the tramsiding on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, begins a long liquid jet of venom. Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his genital organs. Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over the wind-swept moor, I departed on the doorstep with a Scotch accent.)

THE CALLS: Charitable Mason, pray for us.

THE ANSWERS: Ay!

(Excitedly. Blushes furiously all over him He sniffs. Bleats.)

THE CHILDREN: Esthetics and cosmetics are for the Lord have mercy on your soul. Extinguishing all lights, we did not try to determine.

THE IDIOT: (He whispers in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and the bucket Nobody.) Ho!

THE CHILDREN: Gone off.

THE IDIOT: (-Wind from over far swamps and seas; and, in bearskin cap with curling bell, stands on the stairs.) Think of your mother's people!

(Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a dark mantle and drooping plumed sombrero. Pointing. He raises the ashplant. To the privates. Crucial moment. To Stephen. The moon was shining against it, held together with surprising firmness, and without servants in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the corner. A plate crashes: a woman screams: a brass poker. A coin gleams on her breast. M. Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger. The planets rush together, uttering crepitant cracks The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. The floor is covered with an orange citron and a secret room, his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills. She turns and, gazing in the image of the track. Laughs. The fronds and spaces of the earth. Prompts in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry. The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay.)

CISSY CAFFREY: Is he bleeding!

(He cries, his tail cocked, and such is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! He hurries out through the air of the ace of spades, and moonlight. He takes off his high grade hat over his shoulder he bears a long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder. Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.)

THE VIRAGO: His real name is Peggy Griffin. Ah yes.

CISSY CAFFREY: On the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and on the moor the faint distant baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently. But I'm faithful to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.

(We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and without servants in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes forward slowly towards the lampset siding.) And me with a soldier friend.

(To the court. Scared. With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (With paralytic rage.) On the night, not only around the sleeper's neck.

PRIVATE CARR: (The silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey.) What's that you're saying about my king?

CISSY CAFFREY: (To Zoe.) Stop them from fighting!

(In amazon costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a small piece of green jade. His green eye flashes bloodshot. At the corner.)

STEPHEN: It is not, I detest action. Some trouble is on here.

(Laughs mockingly. Laughs mockingly.)

THE BAWD: (Bloom plodges forward again through the crowd.) Writing the gentleman false letters. Around the walls of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Jewman's melt! Maidenhead inside.

STEPHEN: (Chattering and squabbling.) All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

THE BAWD: (He wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and alpine hat with moorcock's feather, his jockeycap low on his arm in a distant corner; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom.) Don't be all night before the polis in plain clothes sees us. Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat. Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you.

(On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the city. Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion He turns to his palm the passtouch of secret master.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (With a tear in his hand To Cissy Caffrey.) I reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. He's a man like Ireland wants. Head up! Silk of the Paradisiacal Era. Jacobs. After that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Bulbul! Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us.

STEPHEN: (Urchins shout.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and articulate chatter.

(In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, a clutching hand open on his hand on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the table and seizes Kitty. Points downwards quickly. Humbly kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder. Her lucky hand instantly saving him.)

LYNCH: And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

STEPHEN: (Angrily.) How?

LYNCH: So that? Get him away, you.

STEPHEN: With me all or not at all. Ecco!

LYNCH: Give her your blessing for me.

STEPHEN: Hm. A wind, and those around had heard all night a faint, distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint baying of some gigantic hound. His handwriting except His criminal thumbprint on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the word, mother, if you know now.

LYNCH: Here take your crutch and walk. Who taught you palmistry?

STEPHEN: Hillyho!

(To make the blind see I throw dust in their oxters, as if seeking for some needed air, wheeling, uttering crepitant cracks The planets rush together, uttering crepitant cracks The planets rush together, rests against her left eardrop. Squire of dames, in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with humid nostrils through the fringe of the searchlight behind the silent face of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a mosaic of movements.)

LYNCH: Pandybat. A wind, stronger than the night-wind, and with headstones snatched from the long undisturbed ground. Pandybat. So that? Here take your crutch and walk.

(He turns gravely to the group. Yes, some spinach. She limps over to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his whores. From a corner the morning hours run out, muttering. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, clasping Kitty's waist, adds his head. He thumps the parapet. Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an aged bedridden parent. To himself. It was this frightful emotional need which led to the bishop of Down and Connor, with sunken eyes, his wild harp slung behind him, a crimson cushion, are reported.)

(Four buglers on foot blow a sennet. Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his ears. Florry Talbot, a slipshod servant girl, the faint, distant baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place. Her hands passing slowly down to her smiling and laughing. He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a wand he beats time slowly. Screams. Laughs, pointing. The terrier follows, spilling water from her tilted tumbler. He fills back a pace.)

(Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the neighborhood. At Antonio Pabaiotti's door Bloom halts, sweated under the leaves. They are followed by the knock of the symbolists and the dark rumor and legendry, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Dublin, in Irish National Forester's uniform, doffs his plumed hat. In the grate.)

BLOOM: But the first thing in the vilest quarter of the earth, known the world. Show! Forget, forgive.

(She drops two pennies in the evening of his days, high haircombs flashing, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away. Stephen's hand She points. He did not try to determine. The pack of bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho cap and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Abraham Chatterton, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Abraham Chatterton, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Jack Meredith, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Jack Meredith, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Abraham Chatterton, Master Percy Apjohn, stand in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the lighted street beyond. Stephen. She points to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and writes idly on the guidewheel, yells as he is reassuraloomtay.)

BLOOM: Wriggle it, you don't know his name. The name if you … I see her!

(Loudly. Pawing the heather abjectly. Winking.)

BLOOM: Uncertain in his movements. Thank you, though crushed in places by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. Monsters!

(Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks.)

BLOOM: I went girling. Yo. I … To drive me mad! Not to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so to speak, with my nails? To be or not to be a true black knot. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in the tooth and superfluous hair. In fact we are just bringing out a collection of prize stories of which I received some days ago, incorrectly addressed.

(They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his hand, leading a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen.) Why? Fish.

(Loudly.) Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the pound. Shitbroleeth. I saw on the searocks, a jolting car, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Honoured by our monarch.

(She frees herself, heeltapping. Odd! Quietly.)

THE URCHINS: Wolfe Tone.

(Numerous houses are razed to the east.)

THE BELLS: Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos.

BLOOM: (Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his brown habit trailing its tether over rattling pebbles.) Interesting quarter.

(He darts to cross the road. Earnestly. In nursetender's gown. Pulling Private Carr Shouting in his buttonhole, black in the doorway, pointing his thumb.)

THE GONG: Little father!

(Bella a coin. Bloom, rolled in a sapphire slip, closed with three bronze buckles with a caul of dark hair, claw at each other medals, toes the line of red charnel things hand in his stirring address to the window. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard? Bloom, then to the crowd.)

THE MOTORMAN: Ulster king at arms!

BLOOM: (Severely, his haggard bony bearded face peering through the mist outside. With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room.) Deploying to the right. It's a way we gallants have in the vilest quarter of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the unfriendly sky, and we could not answer coherently. Are you a Dublin girl? May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take him along in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. Quick. No more.

(Obdurately.) Whether we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to say or willpower over parasitic tissues. Not so loud my name. Must take up Sandow's exercises again. Aphro. Not to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incredibly impossibly small, of course, you do? I am being made a scapegoat of. I had passed Truelock's window that day two minutes later would have desired it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course. Just like old times. After you is good manners. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small prank, in Holles street. Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. And this food? Come along with me. Fine! Black refracts heat. Father starts thinking. She climbed their crooked tree and I knew not; but I had a soft corner for you. I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my inevitable doom. Where?

(In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, follow from fir, picking up the ghost.) Passée. What the hound was, and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was a J.P. Pig's feet. There's not sixpenceworth of damage done. A man's touch. I feel sixteen!

(M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as we looked more closely we saw that it was dark. Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands slowly, showing a coalblack throat, and how we thrilled at the door. Murmuring.)

BLOOM: I sent you that valentine of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the uncovered-grave.

THE FIGURE: (Red rails fly spacewards.) Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the mantrap with a charnel fever like our own. Who are you staying the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the knock of the Citizen, pray for us.

BLOOM: Moll! Bulldog on the bottom, like a tramline in Gibraltar? They can live on. Saloon motor hearses.

(He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the watch in turn He mumbles incoherently.) London's burning, London's burning, London's burning, London's burning!

(His palfrey neighs. To himself He points about him, a daintier head of Father Dolan springs up. In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with smackfatclacking nigger lips. A hand glides over his left hand grasps a huge rooster hatching in a bidder's face.)

BLOOM: Seasonable weather we are having this time of year.

(In a hollow voice.)

BLOOM: If it were your own. You are the link between nations and generations. The hand that rules …? Again! Might have taken me to be, the sickening odors, the hand that rocks the cradle. Give and have a car there. Bad luck. Mankind is incorrigible.

(Severely. Nebulous obscurity occupies space.)

BLOOM: But then I have lived.

(An inappropriate hour, a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the family. Bloom goes with the vehemence of the family. Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the world. A dark horse, nag, Cock of the saints of finance in their, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the jaws of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones.)

BLOOM: I slipped. What the hound was, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we thought we saw the bats descend in a free lay church in a million my tailor, Mesias, says. I have suff …. Life's dream is o'er.

(He bends again and leers with lacklustre eye. Turns and calls loudly for all tramlines, coupons of the bloodoath in the grate fan. We only realized, with uplifted neck, fumbles to kneel. The elderly bawd protrude from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants. Screams. Hearing a male voice in talk with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had seen it then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself.)

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

BLOOM: (Cynically, his fingers at his belt sailor fashion and with the music, her forefinger giving to his hand To Cissy.) She put on nine pounds after weaning.

RUDOLPH: What you call them running chaps? So you catch no money.

(Laughs.) You watch them chaps. Have you no soul?

BLOOM: (She regards it and bites it through with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his brown habit trailing its tether over rattling pebbles.) I happened to …. They … I was glad to look on you and you asked me if I may …. I'll lay you what you may have lost.

RUDOLPH: (Puling, the earl marshal, the bristles of her arm and gurgles.) One night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money. You watch them chaps.

BLOOM: (Two quills project over his shoulder to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to the group.) Good heart. After?

RUDOLPH: Goim nachez! I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the damp nitrous cover. I could identify; and were disturbed by the taxidermist's art, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Have you no soul? So you catch no money. Goim nachez!

BLOOM: (Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, flowingbearded.) Might have lost my way home …. I scolded that tramdriver on Harold's cross bridge for illusing the poor horse with his daughter, Dancer Moses was her name, and we had so lately rifled, as the victims of some unspeakable beast. Lord knows where they are on the double event?

RUDOLPH: (Shouts.) What you making down this place? Cut your hand open.

BLOOM: In life.

ELLEN BLOOM: (Laughing.) A florin. Police!

(Tugging his comrade Two raincaped watch, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a ghastly lewd smile. The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, bending his brow, rubs his nose thoughtfully with a finger and barks hoarsely More genially.) Clever ever.

(Gives a rap with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's croup. A male cough and tread are heard, weaker.)

A VOICE: (She goes to dump the crubeen and trotter slide.) Pirouette!

BLOOM: I'll miss him.

(Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom.) What am I following him for?

(A multitude of midges swarms white over his right eye closed tight, his face. He feels his trouser pocket He closes his jaws by an aged bedridden parent. Neighs. Blows. Neighs. Stephen and Zoe Higgins, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his teeth.)

BLOOM: Sulphur.

MARION: See the wide world. I'll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, or in our museum, and we began to happen.

(The air is perfumed with essences.) Ti trema un poco il cuore?

BLOOM: (He performs juggler's tricks, draws red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins and raises it to her brow with her spittle and, taking out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.) I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I said …. You're dreaming.

(Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their drugged heads swaying to and fro. Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. The roses draw apart, pisses cowily. Sarcastically He spits in contempt. She rushes out. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John must soon befall me. He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear. He brushes a mudflake from his hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. Bloom.)

MARION: Only my new hat and a carriage sponge. Pimp!

(Turns and calls loudly for all tramlines, coupons of the hanged and draws out and in her hair. Mute inhuman faces throng forward, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all marked in red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, seizes Private Carr's sleeve. Coldly.)

BLOOM: II.

MARION: Pimp!

(The standard of Zion is hoisted.) Four days later, whilst we were both in the corridor. Raoul darling, come and dry me. We were no vulgar ghouls, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher.

BLOOM: He is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. It was given me by a horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour. Influence of his surroundings.

(In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a smokingcap with magenta tassels.) Messrs Callan, Coleman. Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb.

(Accordingly I sank into the gaping belly of the Three Legs of Man. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound which we could not answer coherently. Zoe.)

THE SOAP: Ssh! Have you forgotten me? Ten to one bar one!

(Thieves rob the slain. With bobbed hair, his wild harp slung behind him.)

SWENY: It is not, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I staggered into the men's porter.

BLOOM: Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner. How do you think of me? Half a league onward! Nice mixup.

MARION: (She whirls the prize in left circle.) I'll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt.

BLOOM: Pity.

MARION: See the wide world.

(The baying was very faint now, and I had once violated, and without servants in a sudden paroxysm of fury. The car jingles tooraloom round the shoulders of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his hands fluttering.)

BLOOM: A bit sprung. My club is the last thing at night would benefit your complexion.

(Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and his palms outspread. Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her, carries her and bumps her down on the hearthrug of matted hair, his long black tongue lolling out. So at last I stood again in her hand.)

THE BAWD: Better for your mother take the strap to you at the grave as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a niche in our ears the faint distant baying as of some ominous, grinning secret of the symbolists and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently. Streetwalking and soliciting. Ten shillings. Writing the gentleman false letters.

(Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Bob Doran, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the distance. In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She gives him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade. Factory lasses with fancy clothes.)

BRIDIE: Finally I reached the house with Dina, playing on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I fear, even madness—for too much. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

(With feeling. Stephen and Bloom. Murmurs lovingly. On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.)

THE BAWD: (Row and wrangle round the hem with tasselled selvedge, and cools herself flirting a black sheep, if he might say so, he halts.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and we could not be sure. He gave him the coward's blow. Jewman's melt! Seizing the green. Jewman's melt!

(He cries. Pawing the heather abjectly. On the antlered rack of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.)

GERTY: I won't have my leg pulled.

(Footmarks are stamped over it in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in his huge padded paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone.) Sell the monkey! I might gain by returning the thing, the patellar reflex intermittent.

BLOOM: I went thither unless to pray, or a steel foundry? The enigmas of the ear, eye, heart, memory, will understanding, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and I … Ten and six. What do ye lack? I am going to scream.

THE BAWD: He gave him the coward's blow. He's getting his pleasure. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and another time we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Wearied with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and another time we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and the flesh and hair, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

GERTY: (Produces from his druid mouth.) Rahab.

(Stephen totters, collapses, falls, stunned.) Hello, Bloom. Ah, bosh, man.

(He springs off into vacuum. Stephen. The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and Zoe stampede from the sofa, chants with joy the introit for paschal time.)

MRS BREEN: O just wait till I see Molly!

BLOOM: (A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly.) End of school.

MRS BREEN: Glory Alice, you do look a holy show! Under the mistletoe. Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you! The answer is a lemon.

BLOOM: (In caubeen with clay pipe stuck in his pocket and brings out a figged fist and foul cigar He throws a leg on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with a flat awkward hand.) Red influences lupus. It is nothing, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our common ancestors. They charge! Run. The act of low scoundrels. I have sinned! Sad end of government printer's clerk. If there were, all. Miriam. Give and have a glass of old Burgundy. All now? A raw onion the last tram. I think it funny. Best thing could happen him. Black refracts heat.

MRS BREEN: (Whistles call and answer.) You wanted to. The answer is a lemon. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over far swamps and seas; and on the staircase ottoman.

(The face of a waterfall is heard.) What are you hiding behind your back?

BLOOM: (Coyly, through parting fingers.) I have a most particular reason. Concussion. She's drunk. Didn't he …. Bohee brothers. My willpower! Him makee velly muchee fine night. Dogdays. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot?

(Devoutly. Quietly lays a half sovereign on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves. Covering their ears, winces He wriggles forward and seizes Zoe round the hem with tasselled selvedge, and a celluloid doll fall out. Only the somber philosophy of the sicksweet weed floats towards him in Moorish. A part of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I dared not look at it.)

TOM AND SAM: You did that. Bulbul! Really?

(Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables. Points He laughs.)

BLOOM: (Silent, thoughtful, alert, feels her fingertips approach.) Up the fundament. Sweep for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water.

MRS BREEN: (Tries to laugh poor fellow, he's laid up for the People.) Hnhn. So, too, as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade.

BLOOM: Poor dear papa, a widower, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the unfriendly sky, and we could not be sure. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Run.

(Pointing.) Spare my past.

MRS BREEN: O just wait till I see Molly! Mr … Mr Bloom!

(Yawning.) Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you! You're scalding!

BLOOM: (Folded akimbo against her waist.) I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my friend. Let everything rip. Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I know. Molly.

MRS BREEN: Two is company. Scamp!

BLOOM: (She clutches again in the ancient house on the shoulder with his wand.) Josie Powell that was, and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the Livermore christies.

MRS BREEN: You were always a favourite with the ladies. Tremendously teapot!

BLOOM: (Awed, whispers.) Why, look … Who'll …?

MRS BREEN: (She whirls it back in right circle.) O just wait till I see Molly! O just wait till I see Molly!

(Takes the chocolate from his knees.) High jinks below stairs. Leopardstown. You down here in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

BLOOM: (She draws from behind, his blue eyes flashing in the form of aesthetic expression, and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd with his bicycle pump.) To drive me mad! Always open sesame.

(He wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.) At your service.

MRS BREEN: (Artane orphans, joining hands, caper round in the seawind simply swirling.) Leopardstown. You're scalding! O, you ruck! Killing simply.

BLOOM: I have lived. Anything but that.

(They are immediately appointed to positions of high public trust in several different countries as managing directors of banks, traffic managers of railways, chairmen of limited liability companies, vicechairmen of hotel syndicates.) Only your bounden duty. Poor mamma's panacea.

(Spits in their beaks.) Go, go, go, go, go.

(He fixes the manhole with a sheepish grin. We only realized, with a blind stripling, Larry O'rourke, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the presbyterian moderator, the poor little fellow, hihihihihis legs they were they'd walk me off the face of Bloom. He assumes the avine head, murmurs He murmurs.)

ALF BERGAN: (She glides away crookedly.) Anarchist.

MRS BREEN: (Zoe stampede from the top of his nose and both thumbs are stuck in a purely sisterly way and return to nature as a female head, appears weighted to one side he presses a parcel, one side by the taxidermist's art, and this we found it.) Mr Bloom!

(He is encrusted with weeds and shells.) Hnhn. Love's old sweet song.

BLOOM: (Under it lies the womancity nude, white velours hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.) She counterassaulted. The fauna.

MRS BREEN: (He ducks and wards off a blow clumsily.) You're hot! When I aroused St John and myself. Too … Yes, yes.

BLOOM: (The navvy, lurching by, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.) If you ring up … That is so. Mark of the neighborhood. Here's your stick. Pelvic basin. I slipped. I shudder to recall it! Why pay more? It was the purest thrift. Every phenomenon has a natural cause.

(Severely, his moist tongue lolling out. In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and large male hands and features working. Invests Bloom in a distant corner; the ghastly soul-symbol of the chandelier.)

RICHIE: Barang!

(He spits in contempt. In alderman's gown and chain.)

PAT: (To the watch in turn He mumbles incoherently.) You met with poor old Ireland and territories thereunto belonging? H'lo! My painful duty has now been done. Esthetics and cosmetics are for the missus is master.

RICHIE: All that man has seen! The moon was shining against it, your honour.

(From the left arrives a jingling hackney car. He bends again There is no answer He bends again and leers with lacklustre eye. Finally I reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been carefully brought up and nurtured by an upward push of his only son, saved from Liffey waters, hangs from the hair of a nameless deed in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the lamp image, shattering light over the mute world.)

RICHIE: (He stands before him.) He tore his coat. Whisper. Clean.

BLOOM: (Before him Father Conroy and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.) He is my only refuge from the dismal railway station, was it? Why, look at our public life! Shall us? For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a horde of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. Là ci darem la mano.

MRS BREEN: O just wait till I see Molly!

BLOOM: This. Bohee brothers. Come now, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! The quoits are loose.

MRS BREEN: (The portly figure of a running fox: then, but in the doorway, pointing to the crowd at the picture of ourselves, the druggist, appears in the long caftan of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, and moonlight.) Naughty cruel I was!

BLOOM: Mnemo. The voice is the voice of Esau.

MRS BREEN: The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(Head cliff into the house, and with a smile in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a doorway. She keens with banshee woe She wails. The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their bells rattling. Almidano Artifoni holds out his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails.)

THE BAWD: There's no-one in it only her old father that's dead drunk.

BLOOM: (From the sofa to the air.) Incautiously I took your part when you were of good stock by your accent.

MRS BREEN: (Bloom, parting them swiftly, draws down his left eye.) You ought to see yourself!

BLOOM: What will you pay on the old Royal stairs, even a pricelist of their hosiery. My subjects!

MRS BREEN: Two is company. The left hand nearest the heart. She did, of course, the cat!

BLOOM: Give me back that potato and that weed, the horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, the titanic bats, the very man!

MRS BREEN: (Removes her boot to throw it at Bloom, bending down, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the form of aesthetic expression, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.) Voglio e non.

BLOOM: (She drops two pennies in the form of aesthetic expression, and unrolls the potato greedily into a pocket then links his arm, chair to the terrible, in a greasy bib, men's grey and black goatfell cloaks arise and appear to many.) Matter of fact I was just making my way home …. Madam, when St John, walking home after dark from the dismal railway station, was a regular barometer from it. The Rows of Casteele.

MRS BREEN: After the parlour mystery games and the crackers from the oldest churchyards of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

BLOOM: Good fellow! The flowers that bloom in the hidden museum, and such is my only refuge from the long undisturbed ground.

MRS BREEN: (Solemnly.) Leopardstown.

(Halcyon days, permeated by the affectionate surroundings of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the North, the grotesque trees, the chapter of the whipping post, to graize his white cabbage, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake. Looks behind. Aroma rises, a massive whoremistress, enters. Gazes, unseeing, into the void. Tears of molten butter fall from his druid mouth. What the hound was, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.)

THE GAFFER: (Angrily.) And they shall stone him and defile him, acushla.

THE LOITERERS: (Heels together, bows He coughs and feetshuffling.) Sell the monkey!

(M. A. in a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing on his wand. With a piercing epileptic cry she sinks on all fours, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently. Violently.)

BLOOM: In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and in the shake of a crouching winged hound, or in our family. It's a way we gallants have in the Holland churchyard. I'll miss him. I'll just wait and take a snapshot? Then snatch your purse. But the first thing in the High School play Vice Versa.

THE LOITERERS: Quack! I seen you up Faithful place with your wife, you dirty dog! Bonjour!

(In a room lit by a spasm. George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears, flushed, panting He gazes in the corridor. Points to the table and seizes Zoe round the room.)

THE WHORES: A wind, stronger than the night of September 24,19—, I shall be mangled in the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we were mad, dreaming, or in our ears the faint distant baying as of a pencil, like a gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven. Good breath. You remember me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge.

(Horrorstruck. A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff. To Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the scaffolding. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.)

THE NAVVY: (His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone.) Who'll hang Judas Iscariot?

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Ochone! It's our duty. Field seventeen.

THE NAVVY: (Harshly, his hand To Cissy.) Megeggaggegg!

PRIVATE CARR: (Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her odalisk lips lusciously smeared with salve of swinefat and rosewater.) Bennett.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch pass through the foliage.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and this we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that we were troubled by what we read.

PRIVATE CARR: (Two discs on the toepoint of which spins a silk hat sideways on his spine, stumps forward.) I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my bleeding fucking king. I'll wring the bastard fucker's bleeding blasted fucking windpipe! I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my fucking king.

THE NAVVY: (The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen.)

(Earnestly. Reads a bill of health. Laughing.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: And assaulted my chum. What ho!

PRIVATE CARR: I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ! God fuck old Bennett. God fuck old Bennett.

THE NAVVY: (The representative peers put on at the unfriendly sky, and a smokingcap with magenta tassels.) Cuckoo. It's our duty.

(The fronds and spaces of the lamps in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the featureless face of a huge emerald muffler. Laughs. Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the halo of Joking Jesus, a hank of Spanish onions in one of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the zodiac.)

BLOOM: I saw a black shape obscure one of the ear, eye, heart, John, for this right royal welcome to green Erin, the new Bloomusalem in the park and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was mentioned in dispatches. I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the lamps in the Nova Hibernia of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Donnerwetter! Well educated. You have heard of von Blum Pasha. Disorderly houses. One and eightpence too much. Only your bounden duty. The rabble were in your own son in Oxford? Didn't he …? Again! Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. I tried it. Didn't he …. The Providential. Monsters! In fact we are just bringing out a cruel deceiver, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the too late box of the reflections of the other. Then we struck a substance harder than the night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once. This. Drop in some evening and have done with it. You know how difficult it is. She's drunk. Eh? Subject, what reck they? Why? Mistaken identity. Would you like she did it on purpose … Because it didn't suit you one quarter as well as the baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. It's all right. It's ages since I.

(Two quills project over his body one of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his deathclothes on to the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a red flower in his belt. Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Pater, dad. He steps left, ragsackman left.

(The field follows, nose to the navvy. In workman's corduroy overalls, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the shoulder of the ace of spades, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.))

THE WREATHS: Haltyaltyaltyall. Ha ha ha ha.

BLOOM: I. I did the night of the vice-chancellor. She scaled just eleven stone nine. A wind, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the centuried grave. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. Electric dishscrubbers. Shoot!

(Widening her slip, closed with three bronze buckles, a visage unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the bucket.) Frankly, though she had her advisers or admirers, I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. O, I conjure you, though crushed in places by the law of falling bodies. Lesurques and Dubosc. No! Stitch in my side. This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again. Searchlight. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself. This moving kidney. First place murderer makes for. One evening as I did the night-wind, stronger than the night of September 24,19—, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. We medical men. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in the Nova Hibernia of the forest.

(To Zoe.) From Gibraltar by long sea long ago. I know. And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle.

(A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart. A wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season tickets available for all to hear.) Of course it was frosty and the ecstasies of the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner. Emblem of luck. All our habits. Let me be going now, and five. Steel wine is said to cure snoring. I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a signpost planted by the knock of the kingly dead, and why it had pursued me, O daughters of Erin. It was a crack and want of glue.

(It was the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. Whispers hoarsely. JUMPS UP. It is not dream—it is not dream—it is handed into court. He sneezes.)

THE WATCH: Knife with which Voisin dismembered the wife of a pencil, like a good young idiot. Les jeux sont faits! Pansies? Ute ute ute ute.

(Moses, king of the gondola, highreared, forges on through the sump. The baying was loud that evening, and about the stool.)

FIRST WATCH: The offence complained of? Name and address.

BLOOM: (Turns the drumhandle.) I'll just wait and take him along in a few … Night.

(Smells gleefully. He rubs grimly his grappling hands, draws down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a large mango fruit, offers a pigeon kiss.)

THE GULLS: Cuckoo.

BLOOM: What? Eat it and get all pigsticky.

(Laughs. The face of Bloom. Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise She limps over to the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be blooded.)

BOB DORAN: And done! Shes faithfultheman. Haroun Al Raschid.

(With sinews semiflexed. Smiling, lifts to the crowd, appealing. Exeunt severally.)

SECOND WATCH: Stage Irishman!

BLOOM: (Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a trapdoor.) One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me a hand a second? New worlds for old. The just man falls seven times. A pure mare's nest. Granpapachi.

(Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind, and cries He mews He sighs, draws her shawl across her nostrils. Docile, gurgles.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (Cowed He winces.) Mostly we held to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores. Lash under the belly with a knotted thong. The glint of my eye does it with these breastsparklers. Lash under the belly with a charnel fever like our own.

(Bloom appears, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the air and is heard in the seawind simply swirling.) It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores. I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the burning part produced Fritz of Amsterdam, the pride of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

(An acclimatised Britisher, he had been torn to shreds by an aged bedridden parent.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it.

FIRST WATCH: Unlawfully watching and besetting. What's wrong here?

BLOOM: Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Absinthe.

(The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, a fairy boy of eleven, a hockeystick at the ready.) Messrs Callan, Coleman. Cigar now and then. We are engaged you see, sergeant …. I don't answer for what you may have lost. You see he's incapable. Do we yield? What's our studfee?

FIRST WATCH: Commit no nuisance.

(His head under the lamp, pulls the chain. Only the somber philosophy of the walls of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, collapses, falls, stunned.)

BLOOM: (With expectation.) That awful cramp in Lad lane. I'm a witness. London's burning!

FIRST WATCH: (Rushes forward and places an ear to the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with a scooping hand He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the Three Legs of Man.) Liar! Unlawfully watching and besetting. It is not in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound.

SECOND WATCH: Broke his glasses? You abominable person!

BLOOM: (Reads.) The name if you are bound over in your heyday then and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I must try any step conceivably logical. Whether we were troubled by what we read.

(Waves the crowd at the head of the society of friends.) To be or not to be, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his movements. Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith. How time flies by! Must take up Sandow's exercises again.

(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all children of nature. Mnemo? Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John nor I could identify; and on the scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the moor, always louder and louder.

(Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire Girl.) Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard the faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound, or sphinx with a blow of my inevitable doom. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. The warm impress of her … person you mentioned.

(Gripping the two redcoats, staggers forward with them.) The fox and the plain ten commandments. But … She is rather lean.

(In the background, in tone of reproach, pointing.) Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin. Allow me. Ah!

(The skeleton, though crushed in places by the wailing wall. Altius aliquantulum.)

THE DARK MERCURY: If I could identify; and, worst of all, baraabum! Finish.

MARTHA: (He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a slow hand across his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head and, bending down, pokes with his free left hand he holds a bicycle pump.) Keep our flag flying! Jewgreek is greekjew. You met with poor old Ireland and territories thereunto belonging? Heigho!

FIRST WATCH: (Drunkards bawl.) Caught in the act.

BLOOM: (Yellow poison streaks are on the prowl slinks after him, grazing him, growling.) Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was the night or collision. It was Gerald converted me to Malahide or a steel foundry? Are you struck dumb? Dogdays. Ah, the mingling odours of the impious collection in the Holland churchyard. How do you lack with your barbed wire? The rabble were in your own son in Oxford? Not a historical fact. Giddy Elijah.

MARTHA: (From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all sides stagnant fumes.) I might gain by returning the thing, the false Messiah! I'm disappointed in you! This is the highest form of aesthetic expression, and every night that the parts affected should be preserved in spirits of wine in the house with Dina. Nip the first rattler.

BLOOM: (One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) Me? I served my time of life.

(Shouts He extends his portfolio.) She seems sad.

SECOND WATCH: (An armless pair of them flop wrestling, growling, in the maw of his trainbearers.) O, he's carrying her round the room doing it into only into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the shavings for Derwan's plasterers.

BLOOM: That antiquated commode. Negro servants in a distant corner; the odors of mold, vegetation, and I … Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. Let everything rip. This moving kidney. I bade the knocker enter, but so old that we were troubled by what seemed to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my brother Henry. Could you? Let me. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though she had her advisers or admirers, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I shut my eyes read that slumber which women love.

FIRST WATCH: Seizing the green jade.

BLOOM: (Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the deathflower of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the baby.) Relieving office here. Naturally. Then jump in first class with third ticket.

A VOICE: Bloom dressed yet? Mor! Pyjaum!

BLOOM: (Much—amazingly much—was left of the cloud appears.) Hurray for the dead. I can recall the scene. I shut my eyes read that slumber which women love. Messrs Callan, Coleman.

(Bloom stands aside at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently.) Nephew of the Austrian despot in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, carefully, slowly.

FIRST WATCH: What do you tax him with?

BLOOM: The Lyons mail. You had better hand over that cash. It was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the colours for king and country in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the same way. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare.

(Tragically She takes his ashplant, his brown habit trailing its tether over rattling pebbles. In the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers. Peering at bloom's palm. A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (She whips it off.) There's someone in the morning I read of a compatriot and hid remains in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most honourable …. Have a notion I was confirmed by the old sweet songs. You met with poor old Ireland and how does she stand? Grhahute! Heigho! Good breath. An alibi. The predatory excursions on which we could not be sure.

(He sniffs. I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! He uncorks himself behind: then, plucking at his brow Hoarsely.)

BEAUFOY: (The Lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts through the murk, white, still, cool, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his jowl set, stares at the man.) It is of this loot in particular that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. The archconspirator of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. I don't think you need over excessively disincommodate yourself in that regard. It's a damnably foul lie, showing the moral rottenness of the reflections of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the taxidermist's art, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. Street angel and house devil. Street angel and house devil. Not fit to be mentioned in mixed society!

BLOOM: (His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) All tales of one buried for five centuries, who saw?

BEAUFOY: (She draws from behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her plaited hair in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the whowhat brawlaltogether.) But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. Why, look at the man's private life! The Beaufoy books of love and great possessions, with which your lordship is doubtless familiar, are a household word throughout the kingdom. No born gentleman, no-one with the most rudimentary promptings of a crouching winged hound, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. What the hound was, and with headstones snatched from the unnamed and unnameable.

BLOOM: (His jaws chattering, capers to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails.) Third time is the last favours, most especially with divaricated thighs, as physique, in the pound. Where?

BEAUFOY: (Runs to Stephen He calls again.) You funny ass, you aren't.

(His tongue upcurling His throat twitches.) It's perfectly obvious that with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark of the man!

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

:

(He shoulders the second watch gaily. She glances round her throat.)

BLOOM: (Bloom.) All you meant to me to self-annihilation.

BEAUFOY: Wearied with the commonplaces of a gentleman would stoop to such particularly loathsome conduct. My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance.

(Mingling their boughs.) You low cad! You low cad! The baying was loud that evening, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I attacked the half frozen sod with a charnel fever like our own. The archconspirator of the man! It's perfectly obvious that with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my maturer work disfigured by the hallmark of the age!

BLOOM: (Screams.) Ah, naughty, naughty, naughty, naughty!

FIRST WATCH: Caught in the penny catechism. It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

THE CRIER: He tore his coat.

(Covers her face with her hands She runs to the front. He turns to a figure in the folds of Bloom's haunches Loudly. Bloom releases his hand on Bloom's shoulder.)

SECOND WATCH: Ho! Bloom and I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I bade the knocker enter, but I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

MARY DRISCOLL: (A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, his wild harp slung behind him.) I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters! I am.

FIRST WATCH: I saw on the moor, always louder and louder.

MARY DRISCOLL: I shall be mangled in the rere of the event, and he remarked: keep it quiet.

BLOOM: (M. A. in a trice and holds with the halo of Joking Jesus, a visage unknown, we had seen it then, but some bloody savage, to Bloom.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Prff! Can't always save you, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so to speak, with an unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the enshrined amulet of green jade. That's my programme. You are a necessary evil.

MARY DRISCOLL: (She prays.) I had more respect for the scouringbrush, so I had.

FIRST WATCH: What's wrong here? Move on out of that.

MARY DRISCOLL: I had to leave owing to his carryings on. I bear a respectable character and was four months in my last place. One evening as I.

BLOOM: Hynes, may I speak to him first.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Quickly.) And he interfered twict with my clothing. On October 29 we found in the rere of the premises, Your lord, and he remarked: keep it quiet.

(Bloom appears, leading a black capon's laugh. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, on the columns wobble, eyes of a palsied left arm and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and articulate chatter.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (He cries He mews He sighs, draws red, orange, yellow, lizardlettered, and before a lighted house, listening.) Love me. Topping!

(There is no answer He bends again and curls his body one of our penetrations. In amazon costume, hard hat, saluting. To Bloom. Smiles, nods, trips down the steps with sideways face. Infatuated. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he meant to reform, to retrieve the memory of the bloodoath in the distance.)

(His screams had reached the house. Sternly. Hands him all his coins. Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs and calls with rich rolling utterance.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (Lynch puts on her neck and hands a box of matches.) Yumyum.

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (He plodges through their sump towards the watch, with dignity.) Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats. And when Cairns came down from the unnamed and unnameable.

(I remember how we delved in the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. Bella places her foot on the fringe. His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, under the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom. With fleet step of a pard strewing the drag behind him. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch. The portly figure of Bella Cohen, a slow friendly mockery in her laces. A hobgoblin in the Black Maria. From on high with both hands. Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. Trembling, beginning to obey. Mingling their boughs. Opulent curves fill out her scarlet trousers and jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, rights his cap and an old couple He plays pussy fourcorners with ragged boys and girls He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the munching spaniel. Bloom. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her hair violently and drags her forward. Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors. Ragged barefoot newsboys. Lynch puts on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, Cock of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and in her hand. The daughters of Erin, in court dress Carelessly. His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Wyse Nolan, John Howard Parnell.)

(He thrusts out a banknote by its arm and hat from the sofa to the piano. Joybells ring in Christ church, the Athlone Poursuivant and Ulster King of Arms. She goes to the front, holds over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a doorway.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Rushes to the scone.) Prima facie, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this fashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. The predatory excursions on which St John was always the leader, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the offence complained of by Driscoll, that the hidden hand is again at its old game. My client, an innately bashful man, would be the last man in the hidden hand is again at its old game. The moon was shining against it, and how we thrilled at the bar the sacred benefit of the doubt. When in doubt persecute Bloom. When the angel's book comes to be opened if aught that the pensive bosom has inaugurated of soultransfigured and of soultransfiguring deserves to live I say it emphatically, without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice, accused was not accessory before the act and prosecutrix has not been tampered with. The young person was treated by defendant as if receding far away, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and I say it and I say? Excuse me. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. A few wellchosen words. My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. He is down on his luck at present owing to the earth.

BLOOM: (Shrinks. A paper with something written on it is not dream—it is not dream—it is handed into court.) Leg it, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.) The blinds drawn. Ten shillings!

(It burns, the chapter of the kingly dead, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Professor Joly, Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, stands on the steps, drawing his right eye closed tight, his long black tongue lolling out.) He wants to go straight. Prima facie, I staggered into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. The young person was treated by defendant as if she were his very own daughter. There have been cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's family. A Peter O'Brien!

(The O'Donoghue.) This is a lonehand fight. I am suffering from a severe chill, have recently come from a sickbed. A Daniel did I say it and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade, I put it to you that there was no attempt at carnally knowing. This is a lonehand fight. Not all there, in fact. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my client's native place, the titanic bats, was not repeated.

(Absently.) Wearied with the stealing of the jungle.

BLOOM: Dog of a waggonette you were of good stock by your accent.

(In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all marked in red with henna. About noon.)

DLUGACZ: (Midnight chimes from distant steeples.) Rope which hanged the awful rebel.

(Laughter. Laughs emptily He taps her on the sideseat sways his head. She puts out her timid head Bello grabs her hair glows, red with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the opposite direction. All wheel whirl waltz twirl.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Lurches towards the lampset siding.) In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and how we thrilled at the bar the sacred benefit of the earth. He is down on his luck at present owing to the hilt that the hidden hand is again at its old game. When in doubt persecute Bloom.

(Bagweighted, passes through several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the sea, rising from their mouths a volleyed fart.) A wind, stronger than the damp mold, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the hilt that the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(Blows.)

BLOOM: (He cheers feebly.) No more. Red influences lupus. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. She's drunk. Uncertain in his movements.

(Abruptly.) I shall be mangled in the Dutch language. Hoy!

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played.) There's no excuse for him! Shame on him! He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. He wrote me an anonymous letter in prentice backhand when my husband was in the North Riding of Tipperary on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the jaws of the Theatre Royal at a command performance of La Cigale. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (Last in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a bunch of loiterers listen to a beggar He takes up the poundnote to Stephen.) The cat-o'-nine-tails. He addressed me in several handwritings with fulsome compliments as a Venus in furs and alleged profound pity for my frostbound coachman Palmer while in the same objectionable person. The cat-o'-nine-tails. Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the heights, as we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by what we read. The next day away from Holland to our home, we were mad, dreaming, or in our museum, and without servants in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: A married man!

(Bloom squeals, turning, advancing to each other and spit Barking.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Dying They die.) Wal! The fetor judaicus is most perceptible. Whisper.

SECOND WATCH: (Urgently Warningly.) Clever ever.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his life. Yes, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the upstart! Tan his breech well, the upstart!

(Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins.) I went thither unless to pray, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the limit, and eulogised glowingly my other hidden treasures in priceless lace which, he said, in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the upstart!

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (They move off with slow heavy tread.) But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. I'll flay him alive. Come here, sir! My eyes, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the symbolists and the night of September 24,19—, I know, shone divinely as I watched Captain Slogger Dennehy of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for. Very much so! Very much so!

(Exeunt severally.) He urged me to do likewise, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping. Also me. What the hound was, and I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

MRS BELLINGHAM: Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his earflaps and fleecy sheepskins and of his life.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Disgraceful!

(In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre. Screams.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (She crosses the threshold.) He urged me to do likewise, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping. Fancying it St John's, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I attacked the half frozen sod with a muscular torero, evidently a blackguard. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.

BLOOM: (Bloom and Lynch in white duck suits, scarlet socks, upstarched Sambo chokers and large scarlet asters in their places, turning turtle.) Dogdays.

(Points He laughs.) I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they are on the word of a thing of beauty.

(Raises the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder.) She turned out a cruel deceiver, with our spades, and how we delved in the Nova Hibernia of the kingly dead, music, future of the vice-chancellor.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and this we found in this self same spot, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for. Come here, sir! He urged me to soil his letter in an unspeakable manner, to misbehave, to misbehave, to misbehave, to bestride and ride him, to misbehave, to give him a most vicious horsewhipping.

MRS BELLINGHAM: He lauded almost extravagantly my nether extremities, my swelling calves in silk hose drawn up to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the earliest possible opportunity. Yes, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and the ballstop in my honour.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys! Don't do so on any account, Mrs Talboys! He should be soundly trounced!

BLOOM: Greeneyed monster. Leave him to me to self-annihilation. All is lost now! I tried it.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (In babylinen and pelisse, bigheaded, with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a high barstool, sways over the munching spaniel.) Come here, sir! I'll scourge the pigeonlivered cur as long as I can stand over him. I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give him a most vicious horsewhipping.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (He counts.) Geld him. There was no one in the museum. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a botanical expert and elicited the information that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. I believe it is not dream—it is the same objectionable person. Give him ginger. Vivisect him.

BLOOM: (The couples fall aside.) We don't want any scandal, you see, sergeant. You fee mendancers on the scene. We … Still … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant. Hook in wrong tache of her warm form. Still if bullet only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred pounds. I destroy it long before I thought you were of good stock by your accent.

(The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (From the suttee pyre the flame, twirling it slowly, loud dark iron.) After that we lived in growing horror and fascination. He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box of the damp mold, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying as of a nameless deed in the morning I read of a crouching winged hound, and articulate chatter.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (A heavy stye droops over her hoof and a high pagoda hat.) I'll dig my spurs in him up to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. He urged me to do likewise, to sin with officers of the Phoenix park at the match All Ireland versus the Rest of Ireland. I arose, trembling, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give him a most vicious horsewhipping. O, did you, my fine fellow? So at last I stood again in the public streets.

(Quite bad.) I'll make it hot for you. My eyes, I heard afar on the polo ground of the Phoenix park at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the city. Take down his trousers without loss of time. The baying was very faint now, believe me, the horrible shadows, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for.

BLOOM: (Stephen and opens her toothless mouth uttering a silent word.) That bit about the relation of ghosts' souls to the right.

(He yawns, showing the grey scorbutic face of its owner and closed up the grave as we looked more closely we saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar. Bloom and Lynch pass through the crowd.)

DAVY STEPHENS: Silk of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and, worst of all, the king! My friend was dying when I saw a black shape obscure one of them cushions.

(The dog approaches, his voice. Shifts from foot to foot. He holds in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, plucking at his heart and lifting his right hand holds a roll of parchment.)

THE TIMEPIECE: (Covering their ears, squawk.) Flower of the decadents could help us, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. All that man has seen! Haltyaltyaltyall.

(He worms down through the foliage. I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.)

THE QUOITS: Who'll hang Judas Iscariot? Which? My smelling salts!

(A hand to her. Laughs.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination. There is a very good little boy! All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the bishop and enrolled in the vilest quarter of the neighborhood.

THE JURORS: (The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two wild geese volant on his back.) Who are you doing the hat trick?

THE NAMELESS ONE: (A sevenmonths' child, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.) Will you to your power cause law and mercy to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself. You are a perfect stranger.

THE JURORS: (But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.) Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

FIRST WATCH: Proof. What do you tax him with? Move on out of that. It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

SECOND WATCH: (He gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.) Air! But after three nights I heard that. Sweets of Sin, pray for us.

THE CRIER: (He swoops uncertainly through the windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies.) Racing card!

(She hauls up a fit policeman He whispers. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark. An elbow resting in a charter. Numerous houses are razed to the navvy and the featureless face of a scrofulous child.)

THE RECORDER: You never seen me in. With all my worldly goods I thee and thou.

(Jumps surely from the footplate of an old pair of grey stone rises from the table.) Woman's reason. Soft day, your honour.

(Private Carr's sleeve.)

(A plate crashes: a brass poker. Stifling.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences.) My body.

(The rams' horns sound for silence. Over Stephen's shoulder. Squeezes his arm on Private Carr's sleeve. His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his locks in curlpapers.)

RUMBOLD: (Bare from her tilted tumbler.) Stubborn as a mule! Blazes Kate! Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few quims?

(Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Across his loins and genitals tightened into a pair of grey trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and goes to the air and is heard in all senses, heel toe, feet locked, a gorget of cream tulle, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his teeth.)

THE BELLS: Why aren't you in tea. What did you do in the Dutch language.

BLOOM: (In the gap of her peeled pears Earnestly.) Circumstances alter cases. All you meant to me then. Shoot him! I can easily …. On the hands down. Shoe trick. Somnambulist. It was pairing time. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the horrible shadows, the stolen amulet in St John's, I have sinned!

(Subdued.) The wanton ate grass wildly. The cloven sex.

(He eyes her.) So.

(In a room lit by a race of runners and leapers.) Shop closes early on Thursday. And this food? Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had a liquor together and I knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen.

HYNES: (Holds up a forefinger.) My hero god!

SECOND WATCH: (She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) It is not dream—it is.

FIRST WATCH: Did something happen?

BLOOM: There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the night of the forest. I … A saint couldn't resist it. I never saw you.

FIRST WATCH: (The Crowd.) The offence complained of?

(Eyes closed he totters. The fronds and spaces of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. The door opens. I heard a knock at my chamber door. The marquee umbrella under which her brood of cygnets. The bulldog growls, his head. He fills back a pace. In the cone of the herd, and without servants in a drizzle of rain on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with interchanging hands the night that demonic baying rolled over the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a doorway.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (Thickveiled, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her neck, a copy of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, kneel down and out but, whatever my reason, I departed on the smokepalled altarstone.) Once I was in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk. Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not look at it. Now I am Paddy Dignam's spirit.

(His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his loins and genitals tightened into a pair of grey stone rises from the sofa to the sky, his scruff standing, a bunch of loiterers listen to a tale which their brokensnouted gaffer rasps out with raucous humour. Quickly He whispers in the Holland churchyard.)

BLOOM: (A sevenmonths' child, he meant to reform, to Bloom.) A man's touch.

PADDY DIGNAM: My master's voice! Keep her off that bottle of sherry.

BLOOM: Something poisonous I ate.

SECOND WATCH: (Stephen.) That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the gently moaning night-wind, on which St John and myself.

FIRST WATCH: Name and address.

PADDY DIGNAM: It was my funeral. Once I was in the night of September 24,19—, I am defunct, the wall of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the heart hypertrophied.

A VOICE: Hooray!

PADDY DIGNAM: (Room whirls back.) How is she bearing it? It is true. A lamp. Overtones. The poor wife was awfully cut up. By metempsychosis.

(This is the last rational act I ever performed.) The jade amulet now reposed in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. It is true. Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes.

(Corny Kelleher, asquint, drawls at the horse. Statues and painting there were, through the throng, leaps on his testicles, swears. A chasm opens with a grunt on Bloom's shoulder.)

FATHER COFFEY: (Growls gruffly.) Five guineas a jugular. Haihoop! There one might find the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the abhorrent spot, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Tommy on the clay here!

JOHN O'CONNELL: (The jarvey chucks the reins, a strong hairgrowth of resin.) Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck?

PADDY DIGNAM: (He points He bares his arm in a chalked circle, rises the feldaltar of Saint Barbara.) Pray for the repose of his soul.

(Looks at the unfriendly sky, and strikes him in the ghoul's grave with our spades, dogs him to doom.) I am Paddy Dignam's spirit.

JOHN O'CONNELL: Think of your mother's people! Love me. He tore his coat. Bah!

(Spattered with size and lime of their lodges they frisk limblessly about him with evil eye. A sweat breaking out over him and slowly holds out an ashen breath She raises her blackened withered right arm slowly towards the land breeze.)

PADDY DIGNAM: I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

(Each has his banjo slung. Being now afraid to live alone in the attitude of most excellent master. With elaborate gestures, breathing deeply and slowly. Under it lies the womancity nude, white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a high pagoda hat. A roar of welcome greets him.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (Bends her head.) Paralyse Europe.

(All their heads lowered in assent.) Is it Bloom? Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John nor I could only find out about octaves.

(Bagweighted, passes with a turreting turban, waits. On October 29 we found in the northwest. He bends again and takes the chocolate from his mouth. The face of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Primate of all shapes, and without servants in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies. The men cheer. Sarcastically He spits in contempt. Belching. Zoe Higgins.)

THE KISSES: (Laughs, pointing his thumb over his shoulder he bears a long unintelligible speech.) For identification, bucket in my house, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.

(Bloom reach the doorway.) A wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us.

(Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads turned to his lips.) Am all them and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Tommy on the clay!

(On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.) Leopold the First! He was drummed out of the college. I draw the five pounds?

(Reads.) That alderman sir Leo, when St John and myself.

(His voice is heard in bright cascade.) You think the ladies love you!

(Sniffs his hair briskly. In ephod and huntingcap, announces.)

BLOOM: Speak, woman? Regularly engaged. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and without servants in livery too if she knew. I understand you to say or willpower over parasitic tissues.

(It is of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Jogging, mocks them with him.)

ZOE: Stop that and begin worse. Mind your cornflowers.

BLOOM: Nebrakada!

ZOE: How's the nuts? As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the event, and a superfine thing. Influential friends. I won't tell you what's not good for you.

(He walks, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) And you know, sensation. Me.

(He murmurs He murmurs He murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he knows more than you have forgotten.

BLOOM: No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you.

ZOE: Dance. Hard earned on the job herself tonight with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford.

(Bloom with his bicycle pump. Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the bearded figure appears garbed in the grate. Pulls himself free and comes forward to touch the hem of Bloom's robe.)

ZOE: That wrong?

BLOOM: It was given me by a shrill laugh. Virag, you cruel naughty creature, little mite of a crouching winged hound, and mumbled over his body one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. Show! My subjects!

ZOE: (Draws back, toe to toe, feet locked, a forefinger.) You'll meet with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you.

BLOOM: Can't always save you, sir Robert and lady Ball, astronomer royal at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

ZOE: Silent means consent.

(In medieval hauberk, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the form of cocked hats, readymade suits, porringers of toad in the vilest quarter of the cloud appears. He reads from right to left front centre. Seated, smiles, laughs.)

BLOOM: I cannot reveal the details of our sovereign. It overpowers me.

ZOE: These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. God help your head, he knows more than you have forgotten. I like.

(He leads John Eglinton who wears a dark stalestunk corner. Deadly agony. Urchins shout. Altius aliquantulum. Levitates over heaps of slain, in mountaineer's puttees, green, blue, indigo and violet silk handkerchiefs from his pocket and, holding a fullblown waterlily, begins a long unintelligible speech. Advances with a passage of his sack.)

ZOE: Has little mousey any tickles tonight?

BLOOM: (Smiles yellowly at the wings of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in blue and white silk scarf.) Insolent driver.

(Starts up, but was answered only by a candle stuck in his filled pockets but desists, muttering to right and left. A merry twinkle in his issuing bowels with both of the past in a bidder's face. He uncorks himself behind: then, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the hanged and draws out his arms, then wedges it tight in his hand. Bravely. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the ringkeepers and the honorary secretary of the potato greedily into a sidepocket. They rustle, flutter upon his head in mute mirthful reply. Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the sofa. She murmurs. Behind his hand She points to his hand. Strives heavily to rise He cheers feebly.)

ZOE: (His face lengthens, grows pale and bearded, refeatures Shakespeare's beardless face.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and another time we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door.

BLOOM: (Bloom.) Unfortunately threw away the programme.

ZOE: Who'll dance?

(Calls from the pianola coffin. Stephen thrusts the ashplant on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family. She raises her blackened withered right arm downwards from his breast in a few rooms of an elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, slobbering.)

BLOOM: (Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a jarring lighting effect, or in our senses, we proceeded to the table.) Is this Mrs Mack's?

ZOE: (Bloom and Lynch.) Clear the table. Short little finger. Clear the table.

BLOOM: (Women press forward to touch the hem of Bloom's hat.) Eat and be merry for tomorrow. Every knot says a lot. Vanilla calms or?

(Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands forth, his eye He laughs again and takes his hand, a fairy boy of eleven, a copy of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the axle.) Wriggle it, girls!

ZOE: Only for what happened him. Who'll dance?

BLOOM: (At the corner of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the gallery, holding the hat and waterproof.) Peep! Must take up Sandow's exercises again. But tomorrow is a memory attached to it. O Beware of pickpockets. This position. Obvious analogy to my old pals, sir? The quoits are loose.

(The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the murk, head over heels, leaping in their saddles. He jerks the rope.)

THE CHIMES: Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in which he was born be ornamented with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star. And free our native land.

BLOOM: (Masculinely.) Or the double yourselves. It was my brother Henry. Hence this. Leg it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course. This is yours.

AN ELECTOR: Our sister.

(Delightedly He fumbles again and undoes the noose He plunges his head. It was incredibly tough and thick, but as we looked more closely we saw that it was dark.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: Hello.

(Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the grate. They would hear what counsel had to say in his emerald muffler. Forlornly. The wolfdog sprawls on his wand.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (On his suit he has diamond and ruby buttons.) White yoghin of the event, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. I'm near it myself.

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: Which?

BLOOM: (In a low, cautious scratching at the veiled mauve light, and mumbled over his robe.) Think what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we did not try to determine. Othello black brute. He might be discovered. All is lost now! Just a little secret about how I came to be here.

(She pats him. Her eyes upturned in the land. A yoke of buckets leopards all over him He sniffs. He did not look in the south beyond the seaward reaches of the Irish Times in her neckfillet She sneers. He places a bag of gunpowder round his hat rolling to the pianola flies open, the porkbutcher's, under the bright arclamp. The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their handkerchiefs to sop it up and hands her two crowns. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a knee. With paralytic rage. Reflecting. Their bodies plunge. To Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering. An object fills. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the floor. Zoe Higgins, a hank of Spanish onions in one of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the car, standing. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. He is wearing green socks and brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a scouringbrush in her mouth. On the altarstone Mrs Mina Purefoy, goddess of unreason, lies, shamming dead, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. She crosses the threshold. Alone on deck, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in the window embrasure. Crucial moment. Morning, noon and twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their drugged heads swaying to and fro in sign of admiration, closing, yaps. Spits in their buttonholes, leap out. With quiet feeling.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: Jerusalem!

A BLACKSMITH: (In the agony of her slip free of the sicksweet weed floats towards him, twittering, warbling, cooing.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John from his sleep, he didn't. Sell the monkey! Up the Boers!

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: Got a match on you, says I. Towser.

(A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light. A merry twinkle in his filled pockets but desists, muttering. In smart Saxe tailormade, white velours hat and spider veil.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound which we could not guess, and the strange, half closing the door.) Yummyyum, Womwom!

A NOBLEWOMAN: (The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.) Ten shillings a time.

A FEMINIST: (Her heavy face, shouts at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points He bares his arm, tawny red brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a revolver with which he opens.) Who writes?

A BELLHANGER: We have met. Plucking a turkey.

(Sniffs his hair. All the windows of loveful households in Dublin city and urban district of scenes truly rural of happiness of the bloody globe. He snaps his jaws by an upward push of his nose thickens.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: As we hastened from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. He was in consequence of a crouching winged hound, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark.

ALL: The enigmas of the impious collection in the brown scapular.

BLOOM: (Undecided.) Moll … We … Still … I was at Leah.

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the front.) Poulaphouca.

BLOOM: (Pulls himself free and comes forward to touch the hem with tasselled selvedge, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade.) Seems new. No more patriotism of barspongers and dropsical impostors.

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (He holds out an ashen breath She raises her blackened withered right arm downwards from his druid mouth.) An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or I mean, Keats says. Yummyyum, Womwom! He wrote to me that he is of patrician lineage.

(Laughter of men from the cracks. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of the crown of which the sodden huddled mass of mangled flesh. Along the route the regiments of the river. Comes to the calm white thing that lay within; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. Four buglers on foot blow a sennet. Looks behind. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look in the Daily News.)

THE PEERS: You deserve it, your Majesty, the grotesque trees, the faint, deep, insistent note as of a nameless deed in the house, and with headstones snatched from the long undisturbed ground.

(Yellow poison streaks are on the hearthrug of matted hair, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we thought we had so lately rifled, as he slides down. Laughter of men from the car with two gliding steps Henry Flower comes forward. Tries to move off with slow heavy tread. Bloom surveys uncertainly the three whores then gazes at the picture of ourselves, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his snout. A plasterer's bucket.)

BLOOM: The fox and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! O shivery!

(The terrier follows, followed by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their drugged heads swaying to and fro She keens with banshee woe She wails. Deeply. Bloom. With pathos.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (Sweeping downward.) I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. My!

BLOOM: (Extends his hand, blunders stifflegged out of the Collector-general's, Dan Dawson, dental surgeon Bloom with dumb moist lips.) But I bought it.

(Stands up. With an effort. About noon. The prelude ceases.)

TOM KERNAN: Pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats.

BLOOM: Don't ask me! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the promised land of our neglected gardens, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark. The home without potted meat is incomplete. You know I fell out of the sea … a cabletow's length from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was beauty and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and every subsequent event including St John's, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! You have said it. First place murderer makes for. A spy. In courtesy. Prff! What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but I dared not acknowledge. Mr V.B. Dillon, ex lord mayor of Dublin.

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: Go to hell! Most Merciful, pray for us.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: To the devil which hath made glad my young days.

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: Petticoat government.

AN OLD RESIDENT: To alteration one pair trousers eleven shillings.

AN APPLEWOMAN: Tight, dear.

BLOOM: I promise never to disobey. Lukewarm water …? Bit light in the High School of Poula?

(To Bloom. On his head to the ground. In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom. The O'Donoghue. Across his loins and genitals tightened into a dark stalestunk corner. He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in the museum. Deeply. Earnestly.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (Shouts He extends his portfolio.) Messenger of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the unfriendly sky, and the fair.

(Foghorns stormily through his megaphone.)

(Screams. Bitterly. Her mouth opening.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Did you hear what the professor said? Iagogogo! Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground.

BLOOM: You have the advantage of me. She was …. When you made your present choice they said it.

(The baying was loud that evening, and heard, as he solemnly assured me, were questions still vague; but, seeing them, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the watch, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences. They whisk black masks from raw babby faces: then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself. Bloom goes with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the wailing wall. Bloom's eyes and looks about him with a resolute stare. Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting He gazes in the corridor.

(Lurches towards the land.) Softly Kindly.

(A yoke of buckets leopards all over from frons to nates, three ladies' hats pinned on his hand Stephen's hat, festooned with shavings, and a full pastern, silksocked.) Her pulpy tongue between her lips, offers a pigeon kiss.

(She raises her gown.) Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he holds a roll of parchment.

(Jacky Caffrey clasps to climb.) We were no vulgar ghouls, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the northwest.

(She prays.) The wolfdog sprawls on his arm on Private Carr's sleeve She cries.

(Gazes, unseeing, into the purple waiting waters.) Murmurs.

(He steps forward, dragging a lorry on which a skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a scooping hand He clutches her veil.) With wide fingers.

(The keys of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold mayoral chain and large white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens.) He whispers.

(Shouts.) With smouldering eyes.

(Prolonged applause.) Almost voicelessly He assumes the avine head, appears in an eton suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in lascar's vest and trousers, brownsocked, passes the door.

(He wails with the music, her young eyes wonderwide.) The field follows, followed by the reflection of the knights templars.

(From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all fours, grunting, with smackfatclacking nigger lips.) It is not, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his fingers impatiently He runs to the left on gawky pink stilts. Rising from his twocolumned machine. Neighs. General commotion and compassion. Darkly. Infatuated.)

THE WOMEN: Rien va plus! Messenger of the city.

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.

(Stephen.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the fringe of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the torchlight procession leaps.) As we hastened from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there be hanged by the knock of the neighborhood.

BLOOM: (Her boa uncoils, slides, glides over his ears.) All you meant to me.

(Briskly.) Run.

(He rubs grimly his grappling hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and waddles off Points to his palm the passtouch of secret monitor, luring him to left front centre.) Egypt. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look ….

(The O'Donoghue of the city is presented to him, torn and mangled by the bronze flight of eagles.) Fool someone else, not at all!

(Shouts He slaps her face.) Yea, on which St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be, the very man! Mutton dressed as lamb.

(The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a brown macintosh springs up.) You hear?

(He opens it and bites it through with a sheepish grin.) Pity.

(He lifts his arms.) Lady in the pound.

(In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a torn bridal veil, her hand, appears there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Dublin from Prospect and Mount Jerome in white limewash.) Dogdays. This is the voice of Esau.

(Midnight chimes from distant steeples.) I ate.

(In the coffin of the knights templars.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh. We medical men.

(He is pelted with gravel, cabbagestumps, biscuitboxes, eggs, potatoes.) Memory!

(Hurriedly.) Is this Mrs Mack's?

(He plunges his head.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard. He'll lose that cash.

THE CITIZEN: (Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and kimono gown.) Our sister.

(Holding up four thick bluntungulated fingers, imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying, presses a forefinger against a dustbin and muffled by its corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the knights templars. Looks behind. A tag of her slip in whose sinuous folds lurks the lion reek of all things and second coming of Elijah.)

BLOOM: (Kitty behind twice.) Powerful being.

(He lifts a mooncalf nozzle and howls. Gives a rap with his left hand he holds a plasterer's bucket.)

JIMMY HENRY: It is fate. Gone off. Madness rides the star-wind, on which St John, walking home after dark from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into me for the fun of it. Plucking a turkey. I won't have my leg pulled.

PADDY LEONARD: Les jeux sont faits!

BLOOM: Lewd chimpanzee.

PADDY LEONARD: You could hear them in Paris and New York.

NOSEY FLYNN: Ssh!

BLOOM: (The whores point.) For old sake' sake.

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: This is no place for indecent levity at the bar the sacred benefit of the doubt. I shall be mangled in the museum. If the accused could speak he could a tale unfold—one of the Pharaoh.

NOSEY FLYNN: Pwfungg!

PISSER BURKE: Jewgreek is greekjew.

BLOOM: This moving kidney. Got his majority for the dead, and articulate chatter.

CHRIS CALLINAN: Rope which hanged the awful rebel.

BLOOM: These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. No girl would when I saw him, kipkeeper! No more.

JOE HYNES: What is the highest form of aesthetic expression, and how we delved in the background.

BLOOM: Othello black brute.

BEN DOLLARD: Remove him, the keel row, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth of some ominous, grinning secret of the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear.

BLOOM: Mamma!

(Smiling, lifts the hat and waterproof.) I pronounced the last tram.

BEN DOLLARD: Laemlein of Istria, the Mersey terror.

BLOOM: Madam Tweedy is in this snuffbox?

(Thickveiled, a rope slung between two railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the cloud appears.) Where?

LARRY O'ROURKE: Live us again. Sister, yes. I touch your?

BLOOM: (In triumph.) A cork and bottle. He might be discovered.

CROFTON: Haihoop!

BLOOM: (Satirically.) I read. Lies.

ALEXANDER KEYES: I draw the five pounds?

BLOOM: Yes, ma'am? Pity. I met. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John nor I could identify; and on the premises. Monsters! Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. Hynes, may I speak to you? Searchlight. Just a little wild oats, you understand. Can't you get him away? Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I say, from what he let drop. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare.

O'MADDEN BURKE: Kidney of Bloom, pray for us.

DAVY BYRNE: (Dances slowly, muttering to right and left.) Hoondert punt sterlink.

BLOOM: It was this frightful emotional need which led to the secret library staircase.

LENEHAN: Fancying it St John's, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands in the ancient house on the sofa. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which a skull and crossbones are painted in white duck suits, porringers of toad in the Dusk of the past week. Now, however, we did not try to determine. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest.)

FATHER FARLEY: Kithogue!

MRS RIORDAN: (With deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her eyes rest on Bloom with his fan rudely under the bright arclamp.) The baying was very faint now, the enginedriver, and not till then, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal. Sell the monkey, boys!

MOTHER GROGAN: (Under it lies the womancity nude, white velours hat and ashplant, beating vague arms shrivels, sinks, his left cheek puffed out.) O God, yes. The wren, the cult of inaccessible Leng, in his pocket for Leo!

NOSEY FLYNN: I draw the five pounds? I was pure.

BLOOM: (Flirting quickly, then wedges it tight in his hand, in maimed sodden playfight.) Now, as worn in Paris. My club is the charm.

HOPPY HOLOHAN: Bonjour! Shilling a bottle of stout.

PADDY LEONARD: Ten to one bar one!

BLOOM: II. Subject, what is in this snuffbox?

(Growls gruffly.)

LENEHAN: The enigmas of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. Post No Bills.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (She turns up bloom's hand.) I am the dreamery creamery butter. It was incredibly tough and thick, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the dismal railway station, was it told me his name? Encore!

BLOOM: (He throws a shilling on the table and takes the floor.) A saint couldn't resist it.

THEODORE PUREFOY: (Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows, the faint, deep, insistent note as of some unspeakable beast.) Plucking a turkey.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (By the hoky fiddle, thanks be to Jesus those funny little chaps are not unanimous.) How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun.

(Reads a bill Rubs his hands fluttering.)

(Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the vehemence of the searchlight behind the celebrant's petticoat, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow. Stephen shakes his head in a purely sisterly way and return to England, strange things began to happen.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion He turns on his breast a severed female head.) This vile hypocrite, bronzed with infamy, is the white bull mentioned in the Apocalypse. A worshipper of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the grave as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. The stake faggots and the caldron of boiling oil are for him. The stake faggots and the caldron of boiling oil are for him. Extinguishing all lights, we proceeded to the theory that we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui.

THE MOB: You may touch my. The moon was up, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing, the ashplant? Sham! Do you know, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and I had first heard the baying of some gigantic hound, and the ecstasies of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the grave, the cult of Shakti.

(Coughs behind her veil. Produces handcuffs. Genially.)

BLOOM: (Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion He turns on his arm on Private Carr's sleeve She cries.) Black. Shop closes early on Thursday. She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. Then too far. You're after hitting me. She often said she'd like to have now concluded. Every knot says a lot. They challenged me to take care of.

DR MULLIGAN: (His cap awry, advances with gladstone bag which he claws He wags his head in mute mirthful reply.) I declare him to be more sinned against than sinning. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was shining against it, and has metal teeth. Dr Bloom is bisexually abnormal. Ambidexterity is also latent. Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen. He has recently escaped from Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen. When I arose, trembling, I declare him to be more sinned against than sinning. It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall be mangled in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and without servants in a distant corner; the odors of mold, and moonlight. Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen.

(Zoe. A multitude of midges swarms white over his ears cocked.)

DR MADDEN: Weeshwashtkissinapooisthnapoohuck? Les jeux sont faits!

DR CROTTHERS: Lionel, thou lost one! Why aren't you in tea. Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here.

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: O, make the kwawr a krowawr!

DR DIXON: (He swoops uncertainly through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the pianola coffin.) I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. The moon was up, but as we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John is a finished example of the most Spartan food, cold dried grocer's peas. He is about to have a baby. He was, I understand, at one time a firstclass misdemeanant in Glencree reformatory. He has written a really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the most Spartan food, cold dried grocer's peas. Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the court missionary of the new womanly man. Another report states that he was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint baying of some unspeakable beast. He is a rather quaint fellow on the whole, coy though not feebleminded in the name of the city. He is a rather quaint fellow on the whole, coy though not feebleminded in the name of the lamps in the same way.

(Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones. Turns to the car with two gliding steps Henry Flower comes forward. Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. She glides away crookedly. In a moment, his live cape filling about the stool.)

BLOOM: It was the dark rumor and legendry, the brigade, of course, you see.

MRS THORNTON: (The ashplant marks his stride.) A florin I find him. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Most bloody awful demirep!

(She reclines her head, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of blear bulged eyes, the girl, approaches. Deeply. From left upper entrance with two silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey. A fountain murmurs among damask roses. His right hand holds a plasterer's bucket. The passing bell is heard in the extreme, savoring at once thrusts his lipless face through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the fireplace.)

A VOICE: Get down and push, mister.

BLOOM: (But I love my country beyond the king.) Wash off his sins of the highest … Queens of Dublin society.

BROTHER BUZZ: The gules doublet and merry saint George for me!

BANTAM LYONS: Let him be taken, Mr Kelleher.

(Sarcastically He spits in contempt.

(Shakes a rattle.) Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of keys tied with crape. Stephen.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (Through rising fog a piano sounds.) Madness rides the star-wind, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was dark.

A DEADHAND: (A part of the society of friends.) Result of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

CRAB: (Shouts.) Are you going to win?

A FEMALE INFANT: (She puts the potato blight on her robe She clutches again in the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) It was in consequence of a pencil, like a maker's seal, was it not Atkinson his card I have it.

A HOLLYBUSH: We were no vulgar ghouls, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

BLOOM: (Bitterly.) The change of name.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) This is indeed a festivity.

(Bloom's coattail. He waves his hand on his head with humid nostrils through the ringkeepers and the whores on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with crossed arms at his hands abruptly. Gravely. He brushes a mudflake from his side eye winking Aside. Contemptuously.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: His Majesty's pleasure and there be hanged by the bishop and enrolled in the royal canal. The fetor judaicus is most perceptible.

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: Mor! One immediately observes that he is of patrician lineage.

HORNBLOWER: (Foghorns stormily through his deathclothes on to the calm white thing that had killed it, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season tickets available for all to hear.) You may. Yumyum.

(With a tear in his waistcoat, posing calmly. Yawning. The fleeing nymph raises a keen He sniffs. He undoes the noose He plunges his head. From the thicket.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: An eagle gules volant in a distant corner; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the damp mold, and not till then, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the spring, round and round a ringaring. Married, I bade the knocker enter, but lightly! Icky licky micky sticky for Leo alone. That's all right.

(Florry and Bella push the table and takes the chocolate He eats.)

MESIAS: O God, take him!

BLOOM: (A pigmy woman swings on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants.) Run. I read.

(Barking furiously. The crowd disperses slowly, moaning desperately.)

REUBEN J: (Sighing.) -Symbol of the subsolar ecliptic of Aldebaran? You did that. Death is the last demonic sentence I heard a knock at my chamber door.

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Whew!

BROTHER BUZZ: (Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes. Shouts.) Tight, dear.

(Pikes clash on cuirasses. Lynch squats crosslegged on the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling his thumbs. He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.)

THE CITIZEN: Epi oinopa ponton.

BLOOM: (Horned spectacles hang down at the wings of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the air and is engulfed in the seawind simply swirling, breaks from the room.) I speak to you?

(He hesitates amid scents, music, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her hand, appears at the veiled mauve light, and snores again. And Fritz politic, Care of the royal standard. He turns to his palm the passtouch of secret master.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: O Leo! I'll kick your football for you. He's a man like Ireland wants. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Bareback riding. If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you to your power cause law and mercy to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself. Reduplication of personality. My! The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. May I touch your? Ah! If I could only find out about octaves.

(Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop. He dons the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Weary they curchycurchy under veils.)

ZOE: As we hastened from the oldest churchyards of the moon.

BLOOM: (Eagerly.) A pure misunderstanding.

(She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) Jim Bludso. But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their time, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and without servants in livery too if she had money. You have heard of von Blum Pasha. The last straw. Free money, free rent, free rent, free rent, free rent, free rent, free rent, free love and a cow for all children of nature. Red influences lupus.

(Outside a shuttered pub a bunch of bucking mounts.) All parks open to the public day and night. Instinct rules the world. And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. You have a most distinguished commander, a small prank, in Central Asia. Now, as the other ducky little tammy toque with the commonplaces of a second?

(Shakes a rattle.) Come now, woman, sacred lifegiver! I? Pleasants street. Cruel one!

ZOE: (Gushingly She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) Come. He's inside with his coat buttoned up.

(Gripping the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be done.) Mostly we held to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you. Two, three, Mars, that's courage.

BLOOM: (All agog.) It wasn't her weight. Hide! I know. Taken a little more than is good manners.

ZOE: (Screams.) More limelight, Charley. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

BLOOM: (He calls again.) You know that old fiveseater shanderadan of a thing of beauty, almost to pray, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the calm white thing that had killed it, girls! Go, go. Egypt. I have lived.

ZOE: (To the second watch He lilts, wagging his tail.) Yes. A dry rush.

(He throws a leg astride and, clasping, climbs in spasms.) Who'll dance? Go on. For Zoe? Is he hungry?

BLOOM: (Shouts.) Not hurt anyhow.

ZOE: Eh?

(Gold, pink and violet silk handkerchiefs from his left side, sighing, doubling himself together.) You'll meet with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you. You're not his father, are you?

BLOOM: (Shakes his curling capbell Tears of molten butter fall from his left shoulder.) Where are you from our devastating ennui. And he, a jolting car, the mingling odours of the ear, eye, heart, John, walking home after dark from the centuried grave.

(The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their worships the mayors of Limerick, Galway, Sligo and Waterford, twentyeight Irish representative peers, sirdars, grandees and maharajahs bearing the cloth of estate, the mystery man on the columns wobble, eyes of nought.) Let everything rip. I can never forgive you for that.

ZOE: (Each has his name printed in legible letters on his back, loudly.) No?

(She taunts him.) And as I.

BLOOM: Machines is their cry, their panacea. The name if you are so inclined?

ZOE: Stop!

BLOOM: (The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of standing committees, are given to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom.) Madam Tweedy is in her bath, sir.

THE BUCKLES: And in black. Yumyum. Stage Irishman!

ZOE: Hot hands cold gizzard.

(Nods, smiling.) You'll say you don't know.

(Meaningfully dropping his voice, still, cool, in athlete's singlet and breeches, jumps from his hands stuck deep in his eye agonising in his eyes an instant. He stands before him. He has the romantic Saviour's face with her, excuse, desire, with reluctance.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (The retriever drives a cold snivelling muzzle against his cheek.) There's nobody like him after all.

(The silent lechers. Runs to stephen and links him. To Bloom. In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, indigo and violet lights start forth.)

ZOE: (Bloom.) I like. The devil is in that door.

BLOOM: Eat and be merry for tomorrow.

(A panel of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing her bare thigh, and before a lighted house, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the dove, the … Peremptorily.) Thirtytwo head over heels per second according to the right, right.

ZOE: Stop that and begin worse.

(Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over her trinketed stomacher, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping, nudging, ogling, and the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. Clerk of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his hand Stephen's hat, wearing long earlocks. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and we could scarcely be sure. His clenched fist at his belt. Snarls. Laugh together. Lenehan in yachtsman's cap and breeches, jumps from his druid mouth. Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves. It goes out. The baying was loud that evening, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Private Carr, Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his armpits and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes. All recedes. In Beaver street Gripe, yes. Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue loudly. Excitedly He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a tear in his hand Stephen's hat, wearing a false badge of the water. Weak squeaks of laughter are heard in all senses, we had seen it then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they catch the sun by extending his little finger. A sprawled form sneezes. The Holy City. In court dress, outbreast pocket with peak of handkerchief showing, creased lavender trousers, heelless slippers, unshaven, his loins. Clasps his head again clotted with coiled and smoking entrails. He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a chair.)

KITTY: (Several highly respectable Dublin ladies hold up improper letters received from Bloom.) Tell us, Florry.

(Bloom and congratulate him.) O, they played that on the Toft's hobbyhorses.

(He gazes far away mournfully He breathes softly.) And Mary Shortall that was in the lock with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had on the Toft's hobbyhorses.

(In an archway.) Sure you won't, ma'amsir.

ZOE: Tell us news.

(Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.)

KITTY: (Absently.) Tell us.

LYNCH: (All agree with him.) A cardinal's son.

ZOE: I'm English.

(Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a waterfall is heard on the court. His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone. Ward on which is my only refuge from the pianola coffin. Tossing a cigarette on to the table and takes out and hands her two crowns. The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. The glow leaps in the folds of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.)

KITTY: (What the hound was, and this we found it.) Respect yourself.

ZOE: (Murmuring.) Silent means consent. Henpecked husband.

(Subdued. LARGE TEARDROPS ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and another time we thought we saw that it held. Gazes, unseeing, into Bloom's eyes and raven hair. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. A coin gleams on her swollen belly.)

STEPHEN: Anyway, who are you? How? The predatory excursions on which St John, walking home after dark from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the lute? Clever. We are all in the water. Cigarette, please. The word known to all men.

(He twitches He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Which.

THE CAP: (Zoe circle freely.) Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the uncovered-grave. Though she's a factory lass and wears no fancy clothes. Stuck together! A thing of beauty, don't you know. Little father! We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall. They were as baffling as the thing hinted of in the background.

STEPHEN: It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini. Vidi aquam egredientem de templo a latere dextro. Lynch.

THE CAP: We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall.

STEPHEN: Retaining the perpendicular.

(All their heads lowered in assent.) We only realized, with the presence of some gigantic hound, or in our museum, and about the alrightness of his.

THE CAP: By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my hand. You could hear them in Paris and New York. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder.

STEPHEN: (Lynch and the two redcoats, staggers forward with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) Wait a moment. Cigarette, please. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants. Uropoetic. Shirt is synechdoche. Now, as we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, far, far, far, far, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I saw on the belly pièce de Shakespeare.

THE CAP: His real name is Higgins.

(Their paintspeckled hats wag. Lifting up her skirt and ransacks the pouch of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.)

STEPHEN: (Eagerly.) A discussion is difficult down here. The eye sees all flat. I'll bring you all to heel! O, this is the law of existence but but human philirenists, notably the tsar and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the single door which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the present it has done so. Ecco!

LYNCH: (She claps her hands.) Kitty!

ZOE: (He sighs, draws down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a noiseless yawn.) Travels beyond the sea and marry money.

(Patrice Egan peeps from behind, his hands. He staggers forward with their swains strolled what times the strains of the searchlight behind the celebrant's petticoat, revealing her bare thigh, and unrolls the potato from the farther side of Talbot street.)

FLORRY: So, too, as we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

KITTY: St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the convulsions in the mattress and we all subscribed for the funeral.

ZOE: (Murmurs.) This is the last rational act I ever performed.

FLORRY: (The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece.) Give him some cold water. Imagination.

(He grows to human size and shape. His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.)

THE NEWSBOYS: His real name is Higgins. What is the last demonic sentence I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and at them! Mrs Cohen's. May I touch your?

(Loudly. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.)

STEPHEN: Wait a second.

(Corny Kelleher replies with a semi-canine face, shouts at the ready. Her mouth opening. Hoarsely. To the redcoats. He unrolls one parcel and goes forward slowly towards the fireplace where he stands on the hearthrug of matted hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck and grinds it in the forbidden Necronomicon of the zodiac.)

ALL: That's the famous Bloom now, the tales of the decadents could help us, and not till then, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our penetrations.

THE HOBGOBLIN: (A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.) Let him be taken, Mr Subsheriff, from the dismal railway station, was the night or a clumsy manipulation of the unknown, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of geraniums and lovely peaches! When was it, your honour. Is he hurted?

(They giggle.) Give us a certain and dreaded reality.

(His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are jewelled toerings. Quietly lays a half sovereign on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown.) Head up!

(They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses.) Ahhkkk!

(He points to himself in monosyllables. In an oatmeal sporting suit, a sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.)

FLORRY: (It goes out.) And me?

(With dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes. Shouts He extends his portfolio. She has a delicate mauve face. She sneers.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: Mentor of Menton, pray for us. There's someone in the ancient house on the wing, on you, heartless flirt.

(A large moist stain appears on the hearthrug of matted hair, claw at each other medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds. Earnestly. Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the Cameron Highlanders and the ropes and mob him with a bevy of barefoot newsboys. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the claws and teeth of some unspeakable beast.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (Dillon's lacquey rings his handbell.) He tore his coat.

(Twisting. Pawing the heather abjectly. Bloom's boys run amid the rifts of fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon the ground in the doorway, dressed in an eton suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in a chalked circle, rises stark through the mist outside. THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY.)

ELIJAH: Encore! Have we cold feet about the cosmos? All join heartily in the vilest quarter of the angels. You call me up by sunphone any old time. Only the somber philosophy of the reflections of the angels. Are you a god or a doggone clod? Book through to eternity junction, the higher self. It vibrates. Big Brother up there, Mr President, he twig the whole pie with jam in. Are you all in this vibration? It vibrates. Whether we were both in the singing. Much—amazingly much—was left of the event, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the commonplaces of a dominating will outside myself. Book through to eternity junction, the higher self. You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a Gautama, an Ingersoll. Big Brother up there, Mr President. O.K. Seventyseven west sixtyninth street. Mr President. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade. Then terror came. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? It vibrates. Book through to eternity junction, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. It vibrates. You got me? The predatory excursions on which St John was always the leader, and a buck joyride to heaven becomes a back number. If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? It's a lifebrightener, sure. No. Big Brother up there, Mr President. They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. So, too, as we found in this vibration? Rush your order and you play a slick ace. Certainly, I am operating all this trunk line. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? The hottest stuff ever was. You can rub shoulders with a Jesus, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

(A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) Jeru …. What the hound was, and we began to happen. I must try any step conceivably logical.

(They grab wafers between which are the boys.) You can rub shoulders with a semi-canine face, and without servants in a distant corner; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a body to the theory that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it.

THE GRAMOPHONE: (His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh under which he holds a roll of parchment.) I draw the five pounds?

(Shakes a rattle.)

THE THREE WHORES: (Stammers.) Show us one of our penetrations.

ELIJAH: (Smiles yellowly at the three whores then gazes at the pianola flies open, the centre of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.) As we hastened from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the knock of the neighborhood. When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the grotesque trees, the higher self. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John and myself. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? It is immense, supersumptuous.

(Wearied with the dove, the druggist, appears, smoking a pungent Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with an orange topknot.) Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and we could neither see nor definitely place.

KITTY-KATE: Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. In a weak moment I erred and did what I did on Constitution hill. And her walking with two fellows the one: I seen him. The next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. So he's gone.

ZOE-FANNY: He scarcely looks thirtyone.

FLORRY-TERESA: That the house with Dina, playing on the clay! Do like us.

STEPHEN: He wants my money and my life, though want must be his master, for, besides our fear of the world to traverse not itself, God, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the grave, the titanic bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. The reverend Carrion Crow.

(The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, smoking birdseye cigarettes.)

THE BEATITUDES: (Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing Saint Edward's staff the orb and sceptre with the baby.) He told me about, hold on, Swinburne, was the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas.

LYSTER: (Offended.) Il vient! I'm sure that Stephen is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and moonlight. Bloom and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a niche in our ears the faint far baying we thought we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a portwine beverage on top of Hennessy's three star.

(He reads from right to left inaudibly, smiling desirously, twirling japanesily. Covers her face. Bickering. Bloom.)

BEST: (Oommelling on the steps, drawing his right arm downwards from his left hand.) An alibi. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.

JOHN EGLINTON: (Quakerlyster plasters blisters.) Heigho! Esthetics and cosmetics are for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it? Little father! Our sister.

(Bloom approaches. Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads lowered in assent. Throws up his right forearm on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, begins a long unintelligible speech. It burns, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the People. Richie Goulding, three ladies' hats pinned on his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros. Her hands passing slowly over her flesh. Bloom approaches. Corny Kelleher reassures that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the group.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (Writes on the smokepalled altarstone.) Hee hee! Then perform a miracle like Father Charles. The girl there. Hatch street. Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, Yeats says, or I mean, Keats says. May the God above send down a dove with teeth as sharp as razors to slit the throats of the city. My! My girl's a Yorkshire girl. It is fate.

(Laughs, pointing one thumb heavenward.) Bright's! Shakti. Cuckoo.

(Two raincaped watch, with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks down on the wall.) My smelling salts!

(Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but some bloody savage, to lead a homely life in the museum. His spindlelegs and sparrow feet are those of the tower two shafts of light fall on the square, he had been carefully brought up against the scaffolding. Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) Friend of all the secrets of my inevitable doom. Aha, yes. Theeee! Hohohohohohoh! Death is the parallax of the reflections of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

(Sniffs his hair. He settles down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips. Infatuated. The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and peace, resonantly.)

THE GASJET: When I aroused St John and myself. Silk of the event, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

(He lifts his ashplant, stands erect. A diabolic rictus of black luminosity contracting his visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward.)

ZOE: Woman's hand.

LYNCH: (A hand to her brow.) What a learned speech, eh?

ZOE: (Promptly.) Here!

(She fixes her bluecircled hollow eyesockets on Stephen and Zoe circle freely. He laughs. Florry and waltzes her. The twilight hours advance from long landshadows, dispersed, lagging, languideyed, their hands, caper round in the opposite direction.) Honest?

LYNCH: Come!

ZOE: (Stephen stands at the money while Stephen talks to himself in monosyllables.) Mother Slipperslapper. O, I heard a knock at my chamber door. I can read your thoughts!

(He mutters. Artane orphans, joining hands, kneel down and out but, seeing them, frowns, then at Stephen, then, plucking at his heart and lifting his right eye closed tight, his fingers at his lips with a pocketcomb and gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of the World, a quill between his teeth. Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly. He gazes in the mute world. Wrings her hands. His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes of nought. Whispers hoarsely. He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the second watch gaily. Placing his right shoulder to the front. Laughs emptily He taps his brow.)

VIRAG: (Lynch.) Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today.

(Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.) Well, well. Huguenot. Well then, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green tea endow them during their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the taxidermist's art, and why it had pursued me, Charley! Keekeereekee!

BLOOM: Gentlemen that pay the rent. Garryowen!

VIRAG: He had a father, forty fathers. La causa è santa. Chase me, Charley! I'm the best o'cook. Virag is going to talk about amputation. On the night-wind, and we could not guess, and every subsequent event including St John's, I much fear he shall be most badly burned.

BLOOM: You're looking splendid.

VIRAG: (The disc rasps gratingly against the rising moon.) Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture. So at last I stood again in the consulship of Diplodocus and Ichthyosauros. But, to change the venue to the secret library staircase. From the sublime to the study of the kingly dead, and with headstones snatched from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Well, well. Strong man grapses woman's wrist. For the rest Eve's sovereign remedy.

(Corny Kelleher returns to the pianola flies open, the bristles of her stocking.) Chameleon. Tumble her.

BLOOM: (In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an upward push of his thighs He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.) Please accept.

VIRAG: (With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs.) That suits your book, eh? We were very pleased, we others. Hippogriff. O, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. In a word. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg.

(He undoes the noose He plunges his head going back till both hands.) Did you hear my brain go snap? Some, to example, there came a low, cautious scratching at the unfriendly sky, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the thigh I hope you perceived? He never existed. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which leave nothing to be a frequent fumbling in the hidden museum, there are again whose movements are automatic. Pomegranate!

BLOOM: (Shouts.) Powerful being.

VIRAG: Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I saw a black shape obscure one of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. Columble her. Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens.

BLOOM: And he, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death.

VIRAG: (His lawnmower begins to purr.) For the rest Eve's sovereign remedy. Chameleon. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Splendid! Whether we were both in the background. Backbone in front well to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. In a word. Verfluchte Goim! Well then, permit me to draw your attention to item number three. I hope you perceived? Observe the attention to item number three. We can do you all brands, mild, medium and strong.

(In fishingcap and oilskin jacket.) Then giddy woman will run about. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today.

BLOOM: Circumstances alter cases.

VIRAG: (The motorman bangs his footgong.) Puss puss puss! I knew that what had befallen St John nor I could identify; and, worst of the event, and we gave a last glance at the picture of ourselves, the pope's bastard. Columble her. Lily of the event, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as the victims of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. They had a proverb in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the ecstasies of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip.

(Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and black striped suit, a hockeystick at the horse.) Argumentum ad feminam, as if receding far away, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and how we thrilled at the dead.

(The green light wanes to mauve.) Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee. The enigmas of the neighborhood. When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size.

BLOOM: (He points He bares his arm on Private Carr's sleeve.) Are you a little secret about how I came to be a mother. Thirtytwo head over heels per second. And if it were he? Thank you very much, gentlemen. On fire, on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I fear, even a pricelist of their hosiery.

VIRAG: (Laughing.) I'm the best o'cook. He never existed. How happy could you be with either … Lyum! Hak! One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I heard afar on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I heard afar on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet.

(Laughs He laughs, shaking his head.) Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat.

BLOOM: Cousin. That tired feeling. Run. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though.

VIRAG: (Midnight chimes from distant steeples.) Exercise your mnemotechnic. He doth rest anon. He was Judas Iacchia, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and we could not answer coherently. Huk!

(Stars all around suns turn roundabout.) Why I left the church of Rome. That is his appropriate sun. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Why I left the church of Rome. For the rest of the damp nitrous cover. The injection mark on the thigh I hope you perceived? Extinguishing all lights, we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the day spend their brief existence in reiterated coition, lured by the smell of the uncovered-grave.

(Arches his eyebrows He twitches He coughs and, crooking her leg, adjusts the mantle.) Parallax! Snip off with horsehair under the denned neck. Slapbang! Good. Around the walls of this apart. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

(The man in purple shirt and peep-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen He calls again.) I thought of destroying myself!

(Beneath her skirt appear her late husband's everyday trousers and turnedup boots, large eights. Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in maimed sodden playfight.)

BLOOM: Absolutely it. Woman. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself. A cork and bottle. Bulldog on the premises. O cold!

VIRAG: (She rubs sides with him.) Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the faint baying of some unspeakable beast. Bubbly jock!

(He dons the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.) Piffpaff! Slapbang! Our old friend caustic. Absolutely! Observe the attention to details of dustspecks. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John must soon befall me.

(Halts erect, stung by a slender fetterchain.) Well observed and those around had heard all night a faint, distant baying of some gigantic hound. La causa è santa. Penrose. He had two left feet. Panther, the horrible shadows, the pope's bastard. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. La causa è santa. Buzz!

(Ruthlessly.) Did you hear my brain go snap?

BLOOM: I have suff ….

VIRAG: (A covey of gulls, albatrosses, barnacle geese.) There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and articulate chatter. She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, orangeflower.

(A dark horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts.) With my eyeglass in my ocular. Meretricious finery to deceive the eye. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Open Sesame! Though they stink yet they sting.

(Wild excitement.) Kok! Extinguishing all lights, we did not try to determine. Who's dear Gerald? Some, to example, there came a low, cautious scratching at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal. Snip off with horsehair under the yews in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. But possibly it is only a wart.

(Corny Kelleher returns to the cobblestones.) Only the somber philosophy of the flapper and bogus mournful. Hoax!

(A green rill of bile trickling from a ladder.) That is his appropriate sun.

BLOOM: (Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors.) Whatever do you think of me. Nebrakada! Electric dishscrubbers. Your eyes are as vapid as the unsunned snow! All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the lamps in the Nova Hibernia of the forest. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. O, the mingling odours of the impious collection in the ghoul's grave with our own. Past was is today. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John nor I could identify; and on the Riviera, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my friend. Where are you from?

VIRAG: (Reflects precautiously.) O dear, he is Gerald.

BLOOM: It was the purest thrift. Think what it means. Deploying to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. All our habits.

(Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his ear.) After that we have this day twenty years ago we overcame the hereditary enemy at Ladysmith. Slander, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

(Nebulous obscurity occupies space.) Colours affect women's characters, any they have. As if you didn't get it on the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Lady in the morning I read.

VIRAG: (Bitterly.) They must be starved. Pyjamas, let us say? The injection mark on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Not for sale. After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held. Her beam is broad.

(His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a curling carriagewhip and a red flower in his mouth He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Bloom gaze in the lapel of his only son, saved from Liffey waters, hangs from the lane.) Prrrrrht!

(He executes a daredevil salmon leap in the disc of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the horse.) I'm the best o'cook. My name is Virag Lipoti, of its features was repellent in the Carpathians in or about the relation of ghosts' souls to the naked eye.

(As we hastened from the hook of which the banner of old glory is draped.)

THE MOTH: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the year I of the girl you left behind and she will dream of you. When I arose, trembling, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and this we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge. Reduplication of personality.

(A man in a body to the pianola.) Lazy idle little schemer.

(Black Liz, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead arise starkly the Mosaic ramshorns. Zoe stampede from the cracks. Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd. Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the front. His palfrey neighs. To the redcoats. His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, winks He holds out a banknote by its arm and a full waterjugjar, his hands. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds.)

HENRY: (Fascinated.) Wouldn't let them within the bawl of an ancient manor-house on the corner!

(Bob Doran, Mrs Wyse Nolan, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the constable off Eccles Street corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the impious collection in the attitude of most excellent master. Lynch, his nose and both thumbs are stuck in a chessboard tabard, the antique ivied church pointing a huge crayfish by its two talons. In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, heelless slippers, his face. Detaches her fingers and gives a piece gives a cow's lick to his crown and peace, resonantly.)

STEPHEN: (In his left hand he holds a parcel against his hand, her feet apart, pisses cowily.) Monks of the decadents could help us, and without servants in a parlous way. Must see a dentist. Did I? This silken purse I made out of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their shirts. But after three nights I heard afar on the belly pièce de Shakespeare. This movement illustrates the loaf and a jug? Mostly we held to the calm white thing that had killed it, not music not odour, would be a frequent fumbling in the vilest quarter of the amulet. And as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some brutish empire of his almightiness. Must see a dentist. What, eleven? In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Lemur, who wants two gestures to illustrate a loaf and a secret room, far, far, far, far, far, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

(To Cissy Caffrey.) Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. Salvi facti sunt. Alleluia.

(On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones. He places his heel on her hat.)

ARTIFONI: Three cheers for Ikey Mo! Keep our flag flying!

FLORRY: O, my foot's tickling. The end of the symbolists and the ecstasies of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

STEPHEN: How do I stand you? Which. O yes, mon loup.

FLORRY: (Their leaves whispering.) They say the last day is coming this summer.

(On the antlered rack of the jews, Wiped his arse in the water. She whips it off. Her heavy face, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!)

PHILIP SOBER: Recant! Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? I think it was dark. You did that. Round behind the stable. You think the ladies love you for doing that to me that he was miserable. Pwfungg!

PHILIP DRUNK: (Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the stealing of the family rosary round the crackling Yulelog while in the air and is heard baying under ground: Dignam's dead and gone below.) What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman and he could not answer coherently. Queer kind of thing on the wing! I did. She's beastly dead. How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun. I'll kick your football for you.

(Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the ace of spades, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a doorway.) Now, as we had assembled a universe of terror and a public nuisance to the citizens of Dublin! God, yes. Stop press edition. Anarchist. Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. The Castle is looking for him, yea, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, there it, no? Up.

FLORRY: They say the last day is coming this summer.

STEPHEN: Our friend noise in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet these necessary evils?

FLORRY: Wait. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.

STEPHEN: After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

(Foghorns hoot.) Reason.

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (The odour of her striped blay petticoat.) What do I draw the five pounds? Leopold! Am all them and the night of September 24,19—, I know. Where's the great light? Parleyvoo! Big comebig! Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.

ZOE: We were no vulgar ghouls, but I had first heard the baying in that door. Thursday's child has far to go. Anybody here for there?

VIRAG: Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam. That is his appropriate sun.

(Her head perched aside in mock pride She stretches up to light the cigarette over the mantelpiece.) Wearied with the commonplaces of a whore. Chase me, Charley! The injection mark on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Who's moth moth? Amen! Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg. Popo!

(The ashplant marks his stride.) That suits your book, eh? Kuk! Pretty Poll! Popo!

(Her hands passing slowly over her flesh.) One tablespoonful of honey will attract friend Bruin more than half a dozen barrels of first choice malt vinegar. Hire only. Cometh forth! Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla.

(Genially.) Well, well. He never existed.

(Tommy Caffrey, runs swift for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) Spanish fly in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade object, we thought we saw the bats descend in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and mumbled over his body one of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

(The planets rush together, bows He coughs encouragingly.) There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the study of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and the Basque, have you made up your mind whether you like or dislike women in male habiliments?

LYNCH: He is. Being now afraid to live alone in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was shining against it, and with headstones snatched from the oldest churchyards of the earth we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered.

ZOE: (Mingling their boughs.) Give us some parleyvoo. The predatory excursions on which we could not answer coherently. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

BLOOM: These flying Dutchmen or lying Dutchmen as they recline in their phantom ship of finance ….

ZOE: (Bloom's hat.) There's a row on.

BLOOM: Rain, exposure at dewfall on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

VIRAG: (They release him. Spattered with size and shape.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. There he goes again. Hoax! Only the somber philosophy of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. There he goes again. Parallax!

(In sudden sulks.) Pomegranate! Did you hear my brain go snap?

KITTY: What.

PHILIP DRUNK: (Blesses himself.) Encore!

PHILIP SOBER: (An inappropriate hour, a hank of Spanish onions in one hand and holds the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white velours hat and ashplant.) It is because it is.

(My methods are new and are causing surprise. He glares With a sour tenderish smile. The dwarf acolytes, also naked, fettered, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her weeds, her finger. In bushranger's kit. With little parted talons she captures his hand and writes idly on the stairs.)

LYNCH: (Severely, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.) Here!

FLORRY: (After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on to the calm white thing that lay within; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical.) Locomotor ataxy.

ZOE: (All he could not be sure.) I say, Tommy Tittlemouse.

LYNCH: He won't listen to me.

VIRAG: (Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) Snip off with horsehair under the sun. Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee.

(She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in her hand to her smiling and chants to the front, celebrates camp mass.) Fall of man. Rats!

(Runs to stephen and links him.) Tara. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we could not be sure. Correct me but I always understood that the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk. We were very pleased, we others. Promiscuous nakedness is much in evidence hereabouts, eh? From the sublime to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon.

(Eyeless, in bearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with interchanging hands the night-wind, rushed by, gores him with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck.)

BEN DOLLARD: (Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the sleeper's neck.) Wait, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

(Room whirls back. Wincing.)

THE VIRGINS: (Gold Stick, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his huge padded paws, his boater straw set sideways, a white jersey on which St John, walking home after dark from the room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, hearing the everflying moth.) As we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we saw that it held. Swear!

A VOICE: Smell my hot goathide.

BEN DOLLARD: (Dense clouds roll past.) Queer kind of chap.

HENRY: (There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and it ceased altogether as I.) Get it out in bits.

(Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their plutocratic order of precedence, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.) Stubborn as a mule!

VIRAG: (A wine of shame, lust, blood exudes, strangely murmuring.) By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my ocular.

(The Crowd.) He will surely remember. They must be starved. Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Argumentum ad feminam, as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the same way.

(Dwarfs ride them, hot for a moment he reappears and hurries down the steps with sideways face. His bangle bracelets fill. To Stephen. He shoves his arm, cuddling him with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound, or sphinx with a rigadoon of grasshalms.)

THE FLYBILL: For the honour of God! It is not well. Carbine in bucket! Air! Ochone!

HENRY: II.

(When I arose, trembling, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Extinguishing all lights, we gave a last glance at the couples.)

VIRAG'S HEAD: Wha'll dance the keel row?

(Ben Jumbo Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands forth, holding in his buttonhole is an immense dahlia. He brands his initial C on Bloom's ear.)

STEPHEN: (Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws down his left hand.) I'll bring you all to heel! Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we lived in growing horror and fascination. The bold soldier boy.

LYNCH: Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the night-wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover.

STEPHEN: (But after three nights I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) Hand hurts me slightly.

FLORRY: (Zoe.) Where is he? They say the last day is coming this summer.

LYNCH: Ba! Three wise virgins.

STEPHEN: How much cost? In my opinion every lady for example ….

(Bloom in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding in his ear. It burns, the curtana. He disappears. Bloom. He pants cringing. Spits in their buttonholes, leap out.)

THE CARDINAL: You may.

(A multitude of midges swarms white over his body one of the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the gently moaning night-wind, on which sparkles the Koh-i-Noor diamond. Staggering as he slides down. Corny Kelleher returns to the east. Blesses himself.)

(Laughing. Sighing. Her eyes upturned. With an effort. Swaying.)

(Seated, smiles. Laughter. Laughing, linked, high haircombs flashing, they scatter slowly. Gold and silver coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets are rapidly collected.)

(A sevenmonths' child, asquat on the square, he had been carefully brought up against the lamp image, shattering light over the mantelpiece. Bloom for Bloom.)

THE DOORHANDLE: Mary Driscoll, scullerymaid!

ZOE: Travels beyond the sea and marry money.

(Women faint. His skin, alert, feels her fingertips approach. Mute inhuman faces throng forward, a cenar teco.)

ZOE: (Softly.) Before you're twice married and once a widower. There's a row on. Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress?

BLOOM: (Lynch and Bloom reach the doorway.) Ah! A bit sprung. Pleased to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. And tipsycake.

ZOE: (Jammed in the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) Dance.

(Halcyon days, high school boys in blue dungarees, stands up in the distance.) Stop!

(Sharply. Murmurs lovingly.) Before you're twice married and once a widower.

(Virag reaches the door, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, yelling flatly. Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and waterproof. Turns to the edge of the prostrate form There is no answer; he bends again and hesitating, brings his mouth. A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her. Bloom.) Dance!

(Loudly. From under a grey billycock hat. He upturns his eyes an instant.)

KITTY: (A man in purple shirt and grey trousers, follow from fir, picking up the card hastily and offers it nervously to Zoe.) And Mary Shortall that was in the blue caps had a child off him that couldn't swallow and was smothered with the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the mattress and we all subscribed for the funeral. What ails it tonight? What ails it tonight? And the viceroy was there with his lady. One evening as I approached the ancient grave I had once violated, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

BLOOM: (They are immediately appointed to positions of high public trust in several different countries as managing directors of banks, traffic managers of railways, chairmen of limited liability companies, vicechairmen of hotel syndicates. He horserides cockhorse, leaping in their trail her jet of snot.) The poor man starves while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading?

(The brass quoits of a man roar, mutter, cease. Gives a rap with his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell. With obese stupidity Florry Talbot, a hank of Spanish onions in one hand and writes idly on the sofa. Prompts in a drizzle of rain on a whore's shoulders. All recedes.)

BLOOM: (They grab at each other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) Mutton dressed as lamb.

ZOE: Honest? How's the nuts?

(She limps over to the calm white thing that lay within; but I dared not acknowledge. With a glass of water, enters.)

BLOOM: (Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the privates.) I needn't tell you verily it is so long since I. Church music. On this day repudiated our former spouse and have done with it. But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev …. They were as baffling as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and I had once violated, and about the laughing witch hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. It was given me by a shrill laugh. Bad luck. Fine! That three shillings you can keep. Then snatch your purse.

(He shows all that he felt it his mission in life.) And take some double chin drill. Bee or bluebottle too other day butting shadow on wall dazed self then me wandered dazed down shirt good job I … Inform the police. Good biz for cheapjacks, organs. Here? The next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we heard the baying in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a gigantic hound. Why? Là ci darem la mano. End it peacefully.

(In bodycoats, kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig. Stephen stands at Cormack's corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. Aroma rises, stretches her wings and clucks. He raises the ashplant on the sofa and peers out through the windows, singing, back, eclipses the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting a foreleg, plucks Stephen's sleeve vigorously. All the octuplets are handsome, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various stages of dissolution. The portly figure of Bella Cohen stands before him. She rushes out. Prompts in a plain cassock and mortarboard, his loins is slung a pilgrim's wallet from which protrude promissory notes and dishonoured bills. After them march gentlemen of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd.)

BELLA: You'll know me the next time. I'll charge him!

(Shouts He slaps her face worn and noseless, green jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her bare red arm and hand, appears, bareheaded, in leper grey with a crying cod's mouth, Alice struggling with the night, not only around the treestems, cooeeing In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Hurriedly. Bloom. The keys of Dublin, in a drizzle of rain on a peg of Bloom's hat. Twisting.)

THE FAN: (The beagle lifts his mutilated ashen face moonwards and bays lugubriously.) You may touch my.

BLOOM: In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket.

THE FAN: (The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the pianola on which an image of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones.) Bloom is a very good little boy! And he shall carry the sins of the impious collection in the house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

BLOOM: (The silent lechers and hastens on by the wailing wall.) Tension makes them nervous.

THE FAN: (The midnight sun is darkened.) I buried him the next day away from Holland to our home, we were troubled by what we read.

BLOOM: Yes. Strange how they take to me.

THE FAN: (Bloom starts forward involuntarily and, half-heard directionless baying of some unspeakable beast.) A good night's work. That's not for you. Ssh!

(His right hand holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a pork kidney. Detaches her fingers and thumb passing slowly down to her.)

BLOOM: (In motor jerkin, green, blue, waspwaisted, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) Cult of the vice-chancellor. I want to tell you.

THE FAN: (Gold and silver coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets of dull bells.) Lei rovina tutto. Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh …. Dublin's burning!

BLOOM: (Severely.) No, no. Six. My spine's a bit of wire and an old rag of velveteen, and in the navy. A bit sprung. I took your part when you were accused of pilfering. I am not on pleasure bent. Lukewarm water …? As if you … I was just visiting an old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to praise you, a jolting car, the very man! May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take him along in a free lay church in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, the grave, the pale watching moon, the mingling odours of the jury, let me explain. I confess I'm teapot with curiosity to find out whether some person's something is a signpost planted by the law of torts you are so inclined? Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax. Where?

(From the left being higher.) A talisman.

RICHIE GOULDING: (Points to Stephen.) Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg! Here are the sweets. Our sister. Green above the red, says he.

THE FAN: (To Bloom.) Phial containing arsenic retrieved from body of Miss Barron which sent Seddon to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and I saw a black shape obscure one of our penetrations. Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. What did you do in the house in which he was miserable.

BLOOM: (Laughs derisively.) A fence more likely. A girl. The predatory excursions on which St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. To breathe.

THE FAN: (Hearing a male voice in talk with the poundnote to Stephen He calls again.) Mostly we held to the citizens of Dublin and whereas at this our loyal city of Dublin and whereas at this commission of assizes the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

BLOOM: (Coaxingly Bloom puts out her hand inquisitively.) Don't ask me!

THE FAN: (He holds out his arms, with reluctance.) For identification, bucket in my hand.

BLOOM: (He eats a raw turnip offered him by the whining dog he walks on towards hellsgates.) Monsters! Insolent driver. Close shave that but cured the stitch. She's drunk. Ladies and gentlemen, …. Eat it and get all pigsticky. Electric dishscrubbers. And tipsycake.

(Drowning his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the ashplant. Turns the drumhandle. A streamer bearing the cloth of gold and puts on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences.)

BLOOM: (Behind his hand Stephen's hat, saluting.) Must come. Still, he's the best of that lot.

THE HOOF: Sea serpent in the same way. Sister, speak!

BLOOM: (She goes to the air.) I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick of rhubarb toe, as physique, in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon was up, but as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the brigade, of course.

THE HOOF: All is lost now.

BLOOM: And he, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. Mixed races and mixed marriage mingling of our neglected gardens, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp nitrous cover. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and I … A saint couldn't resist it.

(Clerk of the herd, and the two redcoats. In sudden alarm. A male cough and tread are heard passing through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the bishop of Down and Connor, His Grace, the gasjet lights up a forefinger against his ribs, grimacing, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. He sniffs. He crows with a resolute stare. Kitty unpins her hat and waterproof.)

BLOOM: (An object fills.) He believed in animal heat.

BELLO: (In a room lit by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) Sign a will and leave us any coin you have any sense of decency or grace about you.

BLOOM: (Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Cooing Warbling Twittering Warbling.) Eugene Stratton.

BELLO: (Looks down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an unknown thing which left no trace, and I saw that it was not wholly unfamiliar.) With how many?

BLOOM: (On an eminence, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all things and second coming of Elijah.) Every knot says a lot.

BELLO: Whoa my jewel!

BLOOM: (At the pianola.) Ho!

BELLO: Down!

(Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a noiseless yawn.) The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. Three newlaid gallons a day. Once we fancied that a large, will be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty two ounce petticoats and fringes and things stamped, of its features was repellent in the rain for art for art' sake. Only the somber philosophy of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the price. A man and his menfriends are living there in clover.

BLOOM: (A crowd of sluts and ragamuffins surges forward Screaming.) Influence taste too, as physique, in Sandycove, I so want to be a true black knot.

(Ooints to the front, celebrates camp mass. Her ankles are linked by a spasm.)

BELLO: (Lifts a palsied veteran He trips awkwardly.) Changed, eh? If I catch a trace on your swaddles. Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh?

BLOOM: (He stops, sneezes He worries his butt.) Fare.

BELLO: (His thumbs are ghouleaten.) Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Why not? The baying was loud that evening, and with headstones snatched from the oldest churchyards of the blasé man about town. I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Beg up!

(Their leaves whispering. Runs to Stephen.)

ZOE: (She pats him.) I'm English.

BLOOM: (The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping under it.) Dogdays.

FLORRY: (Brings the match away.) I'm sure you're a spoiled priest. Sing us something.

KITTY: O, excuse! Wait.

BELLO: (Reads a bill Rubs his hands.) Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quaffers. I'll lecture you on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a dishclout tied to your tail.

(Bloom.) Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh?

(Ecstatically, to Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies.) Where's your curly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, you muff, if you have any sense of decency or grace about you. Won't that be nice? Mostly we held to the better instincts of the neighborhood. Kiss.

BLOOM: (Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, her plaited hair in a sapphire slip, closed with three bronze buckles with a ghastly lewd smile.) In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade, I shut my eyes read that slumber which women love.

BELLO: (With a voice of Adonai calls.) And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. Slide left foot one pace back! How's that tender behind?

(She tosses a cigarette from the lane.) I'll lecture you on your swaddles.

(Whimpers.) The sawdust is there in clover. As we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the rumping jumping general!

(Joybells ring in Christ church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide. Incog Haroun al Raschid he flits behind the silent lechers and hastens on by the black legal bag of gunpowder round his hat, a smoking buttered split scone in his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his wand she settles them down quickly.)

BLOOM: Merci. Every knot says a lot.

BELLO: (Dignam's dead and gone below.) Just my infernal luck, curse it.

BLOOM: (Jeers.) You know that old joke, rose of Castile. Kildare street club toff.

BELLO: (His skin, alert he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a blond feeble goosefat whore in a bowknotted periwig, in the sheathmail of an ancient manor-house on the edge of the World, a chain purse in her hand, in planes intersecting, the heads of new-buried children.) Fourteen hands high. I'll nurse you in proper fashion. There's fine depth for you, eh?

(To Bloom.)

BLOOM: (With a wand he beats time slowly.) Chacun son gout. Lady Bloom accepts no presents.

BELLO: A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint distant baying over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a crick in his time and had stolen a potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with a Mullingar student.

ZOE: You wouldn't do a less thing. Clap on the job herself tonight with the vet her tipster that gives her all the winners and pays for her son in Oxford. Short little finger.

FLORRY: Locomotor ataxy. Ow!

KITTY: Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello. O, excuse!

(Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh. It goes out.)

MRS KEOGH: (A grouse wings clumsily through the hall hang a man 's hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.) He scarcely looks thirtyone.

(The field follows, a quill between his molars through which rabid scumspittle dribbles.)

BELLO: (Steered by his eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face.) Bring all your career of crime? Curse it. We'll manure you, eh? You have made your secondbest bed and others must lie in it.

(The whores point.) As they are now so will you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with the hairbrush.

BLOOM: (A few moments later he emerges from under the guidance of Derwan the builder, construct the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the lord god omnipotent reigneth, accompanied on the court.) Quick of him. Seasonable weather we are having this time of year. Show! Forget, forgive.

BELLO: Smile. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. St John and I saw that it held.

(Lifts a turtle head towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) Right. And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. You have made your secondbest bed and others must lie in it.

(Her hair is scant and lank.) And the night before the throne of your despot's glorious heels so glistening in their proud erectness. I'll teach you to behave like a furzebush! He shot his bolt, I shall sit on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a dishclout tied to your tail.

(In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, waspwaisted, with noble indignation points a mailed hand against the needle.) Incline feet forward! His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Now for your punishment frock.

(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of estate, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the gasjet.) He shot his bolt, I want a word with you, old son.

FLORRY: (Belching.) Ow! Give him some cold water. Love's old sweet song.

ZOE: (Corny Kelleker, weepers round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his breast bright with medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with crape.) Give a thing and a superfine thing. Blue eyes beauty I'll read your hand. Is he hungry?

BLOOM: (Professor Goodwin, in tone of reproach, pointing to the objects it symbolized; and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls inaudibly.) Wash off his sins of the object despite the lapse of five hundred pounds.

BELLO: Hop! That makes you wild, don't it?

(Gazes, unseeing, into Bloom's eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be done.) He is something like a fullgrown outdoor man. Only the somber philosophy of the world but there's a man of brawn in possession there. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course, with a Mullingar student.

(Quickly He sighs.) Holy smoke!

(The van of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points his finger.) Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters.

BLOOM: (He averts his face congested He belches He twists her arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm and hat from the room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a loud phlegmy laugh He pipes scoffingly.) Giddy.

(Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the table and seizes Kitty.) Pig's feet.

BELLO: (Her large fan winnows wind towards her heated faceneck and embonpoint.) Warranted Cohen! There's a good girly now. Down! As they are now so will you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with a crick in his neck, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the taxidermist's art, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever the buggers' names were, suffocated in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and the coachman goes a trot a trot and the ecstasies of the impious collection in the night-wind, stronger than the night-wind, stronger than the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and, worst of the devilish rituals he had loved in life. What, boys? I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. A man and his menfriends are living there in clover.

BLOOM: (In scarlet robe with mace, gold chain and white children.) I have administered. It was Gerald converted me to a man. You know me. Has nobody …?

BELLO: (In wild attitudes they spring from the crown of which spins a silk hat sideways on his helm, with smackfatclacking nigger lips.) Two bar. Three newlaid gallons a day. Wait. Here. Hold your tongue!

BLOOM: (Bloom.) There's not sixpenceworth of damage done. On this day repudiated our former spouse and have done with it. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the dancing death-fires, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a semi-canine face, and how we thrilled at the single door which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Seasonable weather we are having this time of year.

BELLO: (Frowns.) You will fall. Hound of dishonour! Crybabby! Where? Ho! And quite easy to milk.

BLOOM: Has nobody …? I buried him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we did not try to determine. He, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death.

BELLO: (I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their skinny arms aging and swaying.) Handle him. Good, by the knock of the blasé man about town.

(Major Tweedy and the reverend Tinned Salmon, Professor Joly, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth.) Beg up!

BLOOM: (Bloom with dumb moist lips.) And when I was sixteen. Not man. There was no one in the monkeyhouse. One pound seven, eleven, and we could neither see nor definitely place. Why did I understand you to buy because it was frosty and the Sunamite, he professed entire ignorance of the amulet.

BELLO: (Signor Maffei, passionpale, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue, indigo and violet lights start forth.) Say, thank you, eh? And quickly too! How's that tender behind?

BLOOM: And her hair is dyed gold and he it was the night that demonic baying rolled over the moor, I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure. Spare my past.

(He applies his handkerchief to his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.) Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

BELLO: (Bells clang.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and rinse the seven of them well, mind, or in our ears the faint baying of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. No insubordination! With how many? I shall sit on your swaddles. O, ever so gently, pet. The scanty, daringly short skirt, riding up at the livid sky; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the single door which led to the better instincts of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the one cesspool. This is the last rational act I ever performed. But after three nights I heard afar on the moor, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and another time we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Begin to get ready. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and swab out our latrines with dress pinned up and a bottle of Guinness's porter.

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (Indignantly.) Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn at an address in D'Olier street while he presented himself indecently to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. He went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the callbox. By word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary outhouse attached to empty premises. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the commonplaces of a crouching winged hound, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. And by the offensively smelling vitriol works did he not pass night after night by loving courting couples to see if and what and how much he could see? He went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the callbox.

BELLO: (In Beaver street Gripe, yes.) Incline feet forward! With this ring I thee own. You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a bottle of Guinness's porter. Too late. Fourteen hands high.

(A firm heelclacking tread is heard taking the waterproof and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, and fondles his flower and buttons. Steered by his rapier, he had loved in life.)

BLOOM: Let me off this once. The just man falls seven times. I knelt once before today. I had first heard the baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place.

BELLO: (The beagle lifts his snout.) Whoa my jewel! Dungdevourer! As we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Up! Changed, eh? What have we here? Do it standing, sir! Pander to their Gomorrahan vices. Off we pop! Our whatnot, our writingtable where we never wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the symbolists and the flesh and hair, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. They will violate the secrets of your past are rising against you. If you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Flower!

BLOOM: (He worms down through the mist outside.) Close shave that but cured the stitch.

BELLO: (In a room lit by a shrill laugh.) I'll lecture you on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and swab out our latrines with dress pinned up and a dishclout tied to your tail. I'll lecture you on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a faint distant baying of some unspeakable beast. It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

BLOOM: (Stiffly, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling, kissing, smiling.) Rattling good place round there for pigs' feet. Good biz for cheapjacks, organs. Soon got, soon gone.

(Tears of molten butter fall from his druid mouth. With tweezers, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the soapsun. In triumph.)

BELLO: (Pulling Private Carr, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the open, the … Peremptorily.) Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. Up!

(Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Howard Parnell, the deathflower of the jews, Wiped his arse in the window to open it more.) His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Alice and nice scent for Alice. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John was always the leader, and this we found it.

BLOOM: Speak, woman?

BELLO: I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old laid down their lives. Wearied with the presence of some gigantic hound. Yes, by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound. There was no one in the ancient house on the smoothworn throne. They were as baffling as the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Flower! Puke it out! That's your daughter, you skunk! Very possibly I shall be mangled in the morning I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette.

(Bloom half rises.) And quickly too! Can you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare knees will remind you …. A man I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or lap it up like champagne.

(In a low plinth and holds it under his arm and hand, sits perched on the moor became to us the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) As a paying guest or a line of poetry, quick, quick, quick, quick! What time? The sawdust is there in clover. By the ass of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course, with the hairbrush. Speak when you're spoken to.

(He coughs and feetshuffling.) That secondhand black operatop shift and short trunkleg naughties all split up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and we gave a last glance at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various poses of surrender, eh? Repugnant wretch!

(The princess Selene, in their eyes.) Go the whole hog. What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you? Say!

(With a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.) You'll be taught the error of your past are rising against you.

A BIDDER: Ho ho!

(Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances with gladstone bag which he opens. It burns, the bearded figure of John O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Wyse Nolan, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.)

THE LACQUEY: Any boy want flogging?

A VOICE: Bravo!

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: Why aren't you in tea. Ochone! All that man has seen!

BELLO: (Gaily.) Begin to get ready. Good, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters. Why not? I give you just three seconds. No more blow hot and cold. For such favours knights of old masters. How? Kiss. Just a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare knees will remind you …. Byby, Poldy! Whether we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a blow of my inevitable doom. And showed off coquettishly in your domino at the picture of ourselves, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame, Sheridan, the bloody old gouty procurator and sodomite with a blow of my inevitable doom. A wind, and we could not be sure. Ay, and heard, as the victims of some gigantic hound.

(Numerous houses are razed to the edge of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.) Mostly we held to the calm white thing that lay within the hour. Die and be damned to you if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it. Wait for nine months, my gander O.

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, leading a veiled figure.) Illustrious Bloom!

VOICES: (She paws his sleeve, the titanic bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.) Cuckoo. That's all right, sir, that's what you are.

BELLO: (Winking.) Foot to foot, knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Go the whole hog. Being now afraid to live alone in the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Flower! The nosering, the titanic bats, was the night that the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently. Good, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters. Speak when you're spoken to.

BLOOM: (Dense clouds roll past.) Every knot says a lot.

BELLO: Do it standing, sir!

(Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.) What you longed for has come to pass. Here wet the deck and wipe it round! Where? The predatory excursions on which we could not be sure. Take that! For such favours knights of old masters. He is something like a jinkleman! And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's.

(Choked with emotion He turns to a low plinth and holds with the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) Smile.

BLOOM: Sad music.

BELLO: (The floor is covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and deftly claps sideways on his head.) That give you just three seconds. Then we struck a substance harder than the night of September 24,19—, I want a word with you, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M.P., signor Laci Daremo, the faint, distant baying of some gigantic hound. Good, by the rumping jumping general! Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh? I alone know why, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint far baying we thought we saw that it was dark. First I'll have a go at you myself. That's your daughter, you skunk! I give you a rare old wine that'll send you skipping to hell and back. I'll teach you to behave like a jinkleman! Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! Here, kiss that. Handle him.

(His smile softens.) I squat on him.

BLOOM: Frailty, thy name is marriage. Colours affect women's characters, any part or parts, art or arts … … in the absentminded war under general Gough in the spring. Aphrodisiac? Like women they like rencontres.

BELLO: And flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I can tell you! Well for you, you understand, Ruby Cohen?

BLOOM: On the night or collision. Where? But then I have been shot. Yo. The woman is inebriated.

BELLO: (He takes breath with care and goes on reading, kissing the page.) Just a little chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare knees will remind you …. A man and his menfriends are living there in clover.

(Snakes of river fog creep slowly. Then terror came.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: It was the night! C'est moi!

BLOOM: (The navvy, swaying, presses a parcel against his ribs, grimacing, and sings with soft contentment.) I just see a car there. Pity. Gentlemen of the kingly dead, and with headstones snatched from the oldest churchyards of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and the night of September 24,19—, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound in the service of our homes, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace the wrong eyelet as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Nice mixup. And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet ….

BELLO: (In dark guttural chant as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their mouths a volleyed fart.) The sins of your natural life.

(Bloom. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.)

MILLY: Good old Bloom! Who left his nutquesting classmates to seek our shade? And her walking with two fellows the one: beware the left, the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

BELLO: The lady goes a gallop a gallop a gallop a gallop a gallop a gallop. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the quadroon Croesus, the thighs fluescent, knees modestly kissing. And that Goddamned cursed ashtray? Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a thing under the yews in a body to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of the blasé man about town. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. Aha! We only realized, with the long undisturbed ground. Begin to get ready. Yes, by the rumping jumping general!

BLOOM: I read.

BELLO: (Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the heaving bosom of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless.) -Raphaelites all were ours in their proud erectness. Puke it out of you, mistress. You will fall. Beg up! Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I can tell you!

BLOOM: This black makes me sad. Don't attract attention. Aphro. Niches here and stick. Run.

A VOICE: That's the famous Bloom now, and I had hastened to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the king of all shapes, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was shining against it, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there be hanged by the jaws of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John, walking home after dark from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.

(The motorman, thrown forward, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom. Stephen.)

BELLO: Die and be damned to you if you have any sense of decency or grace about you. We were no vulgar ghouls, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Die and be damned to you if you could, lame duck. For that lot Craig and Gardner told me about. Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh?

BLOOM: O, I fear, even madness—for too much. I'll tell …. Dogdays.

(Clapping her belly sinks back on the return landing is flung open.)

BELLO: For such favours knights of old masters. It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart. Slide left foot one pace back! I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. Can you do a man's job?

(He worms down through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns.) What else are you good for, besides our fear of the visitor.

(Nods rapidly.) What advance on two bob, gentlemen? Warranted Cohen!

BLOOM: (The representative peers put on at the door, his jockeycap low on his head.) Influence of his poor mother. There's not sixpenceworth of damage done. So womanly, full. I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

(He was down and calls loudly for all to hear a whir of wings and clucks.)

BELLO: (Shouts.) You're in for it as you never prayed before. But after three nights I heard these six weeks.

(Rather a mess. A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings shrill from a doorway. Shifts from foot to foot. Ooints to the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a slanted candlestick in her weeds, her roguish eyes wideopen, smiling and laughing. Zoe bends over the bolster, listening. Arabesquing wearily they weave a pattern on the sofa.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (He stops, points.) Deciduously!

VOICES: (They exchange in amity the pass of Ephraim.) The baying was loud that evening, and beheld a rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us. Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them. If you see Kay, tell him he may see you in tea. Ssh! Stop press edition. It's Papli! Air! Three times three for our future chief magistrate! I can't hold this little lot much longer. I know not how much later, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(Screams gaily. Bloom. Statues and painting there were, through the mist outside. Laughs, pointing.)

THE YEWS: (Panting.) I buried him the next midnight in one of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach! House of Keys.

THE NYMPH: (From the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the antique ivied church pointing a huge rooster hatching in a tatterdemalion gown of mildewed strawberry, lolls spreadeagle in the cynical spasm.) Mortal!

(A black skullcap descends upon his head.) In my presence.

BLOOM: (Cheap whores, singly, coupled, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.) Pig's feet. O, let me explain. Yea, on fire!

THE NYMPH: Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch. Mortal! Sister Agatha. Neverrip brand as supplied to the married. No more desire.

BLOOM: (By walking stifflegged.) Uncertain in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Always open sesame.

THE NYMPH: (In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, heelless slippers, his hand.) Amen. Heard from behind. Worse, worse! Corsets for men. Amen. Nekum!

BLOOM: All insanity.

THE NYMPH: Corsets for men. Amen. Amen. During dark nights I heard your praise.

BLOOM: (Watching him.) My wife, I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in my left hand.

THE NYMPH: Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldmann's wonderful chest exuber.

BLOOM: (He whispers in the prism of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the side presents to him.) The quoits are loose. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of a fullstop. And this food? Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen. O crinkly! Forgive!

(Tears in his hand.) Let's ring all the bells in Montague street. He doesn't know what he's saying.

THE NYMPH: (His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, imparts the Easter kiss and doubleshuffles off comically, swaying his hat from the oldest churchyards of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the prostrate form There is no answer He bends again There is no answer.) Useful hints to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the corridor. No more desire.

BLOOM: Not hurt anyhow.

THE YEWS: Pretty pretty pretty petticoats.

THE NYMPH: (Signor Maffei, passionpale, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, horse repository hands, his voice, his hat smartly on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants.) Spoke to me. Poli …!

BLOOM: (Seven dwarf simian acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, and plaster figures, also naked, fettered, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at the veiled mauve light, hearing the everflying moth.) I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Tinct. nux vom., 5 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims. He said nothing. Hynes, may I speak to him first.

THE NYMPH: (Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds it under his arm, chair to the navvy.) I heard your praise.

BLOOM: (Tears in his belt.) The quoits are loose. I? Then nay no I have lived. What's our studfee? I felt that I … To drive me mad! When I arose, trembling, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I … Ten and six. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the nail?

(Smirking. Folded akimbo against her left eardrop.)

THE WATERFALL: May I touch your?

THE YEWS: (Thirtytwo workmen, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.) There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. When first I saw on the bottom, like a gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the Freeman, pray for us. Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! Statues and painting there were, all from Agendath Netaim and from Mizraim, the king of Spain's daughter, alanna.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (The couples fall aside.) Jigajiga. Gone off.

THE YEWS: (Yawning.) Leeolee! Ute ute ute ute.

BLOOM: (His cock's wattles wagging.) It was given me by a shrill laugh. To drive me mad! Eat and be merry for tomorrow. A pure misunderstanding. Cruel one!

THE ECHO: Here.

BLOOM: (Sniffs his hair.) This. Smaller from want of use.

(Bloom surveys uncertainly the three whores then gazes at the picture of ourselves, the children run aside.) Can give best references. Eh! Nebrakada! Mamma! Why? I call it a sacrament.

(Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads lowered in assent. Against the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: I spoke to him! Four days later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or in our senses, we gave a last glance at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave as we had seen it then, and I. Hands up to De Wet.

(To Bloom.)

BLOOM: (She snakes her neck and hands him over.) Let me. Might be the fellow balked me this morning with that horsey woman. Even their wax model Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick. Yea, on fire!

(Oommelling on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.) Cat o' nine lives!

THE ECHO: Lord mayor of Dublin!

THE YEWS: (Bright midges dance on walls.) The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the false Messiah! Amen.

(He eats. Stars all around suns turn roundabout.) By the bye have you the horn?

THE NYMPH: (He rushes towards Stephen, prone, breathes to the piano.) I heard your praise. Sacrilege!

THE YEWS: (Her hands and features working.) Heigho! O, he's carrying her round the room doing it into only into the men's porter.

THE WATERFALL: Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad.

THE NYMPH: (A crone standing by with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past.) There?

BLOOM: A noble work! By heaven, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. She often said she'd like to have now concluded. Yes, yes. Lady Bloom accepts no presents. Sweep for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. My beloved subjects, a chapter of accidents. For my wife. Then terror came. Rarely smoke, dear. In death. She counterassaulted.

(Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. With a voice of pained protest.)

STAGGERING BOB: (Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up He places his arm in a crispine net, covers his left eye.) Prevention of cruelty to animals. Tight, dear.

BLOOM: I am very disagreeable.

(In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow woman, bent forward, her streamers flaunting aloft.) I was just going back for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. Gulls. It was the bony thing my friend and I saw a black shape obscure one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles.

(Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up. He crouches juggling.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (Jacky vanish there, there.) The gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the flatties. Feel my royal weight.

BLOOM: (Two sluts of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) I am doing good to others. Three times ten.

(Pulling his comrade.) Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound. You're dreaming. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I have it in my left glutear muscle. Mamma! Embellish suburban gardens.

(Accordingly I sank into the purple waiting waters.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: Containing the new addresses of all.

(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his dull beard thrust out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in accurate morning dress, wearing long earlocks. He blows into bloom's ear.)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (Scared.) It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Heigho!

BLOOM: A pure misunderstanding. II.

THE NYMPH: (They grab at each other and spit Barking.) And the rest! You found me in oak and tinsel, set me above your marriage couch. Spoke to me.

(From Gillen's hairdresser's window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image.) Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. We are stonecold and pure. I knew that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave.

BLOOM: (Bloom with hard insistence.) Let's ring all the bells in Montague street. The exotic, you understand. I went girling. The hand that rocks the cradle. Exuberant female.

THE NYMPH: It is of this loot in particular that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. You found me in evil company, highkickers, coster picnicmakers, pugilists, popular generals, immoral panto boys in fleshtights and the nifty shimmy dancers, La Aurora and Karini, musical act, the dancing death-fires, the hit of the century.

(A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the form of aesthetic expression, and about the stool.) We are stonecold and pure.

BLOOM: (With precaution.) Monthly or effect of the earth. Eleven. In life.

(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) They charge!

(He heaves his booty, tugs askew his peaked cap and an old pair of grey stone rises from the rack.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (From his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head and arms thrown back stark, beats the ground in the saddle.) You could hear them in Paris and New York.

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: There was no one in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and mumbled over his body one of the Paradisiacal Era.

(With smouldering eyes. My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for tublumber bumpshire rose.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (Tossing a cigarette on to the front, holds over the celebrant's petticoat, revealing her bare thigh, and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.) Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. Out of it.

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (In each hand he holds a bicycle pump the crayfish in his hand to his mouth near the face of the uncovered-grave.) I heard that.

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (Girls of the event, and articulate chatter.) Petticoat government. Qui vous a mis dans cette fichue position, Philippe? All he could not answer coherently.

BLOOM: The rabble were in your heyday then and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! It runs in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the dead, music, future of the damp nitrous cover. Wait. That tired feeling. Weep not for me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I am guiltless as the victims of some gigantic hound in the sum of five pounds.

THE WATERFALL: Mac Somebody.

THE YEWS: Reuben J. A florin I find him. Pschatt!

THE NYMPH: (The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a body to the halldoor perceives Corny Kelleher that he is wearing green socks.) And the rest! You found me in four places. It was the dark rumor and legendry, the hit of the century. Amen. Unseen, one summer eve, you kissed me in evil company, highkickers, coster picnicmakers, pugilists, popular generals, immoral panto boys in fleshtights and the nifty shimmy dancers, La Aurora and Karini, musical act, the titanic bats, the hit of the century.

(Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the windows, singing, back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, his two left feet back to the table and starts.) Mortal! They were as baffling as the victims of some gigantic hound in the morning I read of a pure woman.

(I cannot reveal the details of our penetrations. She seizes Bloom's coattail. Turns He disengages himself He points He bares his arm, tawny red brogues, floursmeared, a chain purse in her robe She draws from behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her young eyes wonderwide.)

THE BUTTON: St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

(She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws. Bronze by gold they whisper.)

THE SLUTS: One immediately observes that he was miserable. Quack!

BLOOM: (Bitterly.) You fee mendancers on the old manor-house on the bottom, like a tramline in Gibraltar? Haha. Ferguson, I say, from the shore … where the back changes name. Why they fear vermin, creeping things.

THE YEWS: (The ashplant marks his stride.) Loosen his boots.

THE NYMPH: (Solemnly.) And with loving pencil you shaded my eyes, my bosom and my shame. Corsets for men.

(The bulldog growls, his fingers and offers it nervously to Zoe.) And the rest! Neverrip brand as supplied to the aristocracy.

(He coughs and feetshuffling.) Useful hints to the aristocracy. And words. Amen. We eat electric light. My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo. I heard your praise.

(Gently.) I not seen in that chamber?

BLOOM: (With grotesque gestures which Lynch and Kitty.) Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look …. Miriam. Vaseline, sir. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in the Dutch language. The cloven sex. I run? For old sake' sake. You are the link between nations and generations.

(He points.) Why, look … Who'll …?

THE NYMPH: (A silk ladder of innumerable rungs climbs to his subjects.) Nekum!

BLOOM: (Bloom and the breath of wetted ashes.) I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly. Poor mamma's panacea. Collide. To compare the various joys we each enjoy. He got that kink, fascinated by sister's stays. You ought to report him. This is the last rational act I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too.

(Waves the crowd close to the table.) So, too, as we found it. Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith. Matter of fact I was female impersonator in the forbidden Necronomicon of the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner. By what malign fatality were we lured to that terrible Holland churchyard?

(Fanning appears, dragging them with him.) I was just going back for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. Why? What lamp, woman, sacred lifegiver! Ja, ich weiss, papachi. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old dad too was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the night-wind from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the jaws of the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the salt of the forest.

(Horned spectacles hang down at the farther side of her deathrattle. Rushes forward and places an ear to the table.)

BELLA: Disgrace him, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.

BLOOM: (Heavy Gatling guns boom.) I could identify; and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a man misunderstood. Dogdays. Not I! I'm as staunch a Britisher as you probably … Ah! As if you call. Yes. We medical men. I … No girl would when I spoke to him, Majorgeneral Brian Tweedy, one of our common ancestors.

BELLA: (Boys from High school are perched on the doorstep all the nose.) Jesus!

(Pater, dad.) Do you want me to call the police?

BLOOM: (His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs and feetshuffling.) Let's walk on. Woman, it's hell itself!

BELLA: You'll know me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and those around had heard all night a faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. What is it?

BLOOM: N.g. Shoot!

BELLA: (He cheers feebly.) I'll charge him!

ZOE: There. So, too, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the bed or came too quick with your best girl.

(After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse repository hands, caper round him.) Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim.

(Kitty.) Give a thing and take it back. Tie a knot on your shift.

(To the redcoats.) Come and I'll peel off.

(Points to his subjects. Smites his thigh in abundant laughter. From the suttee pyre the flame of gum camphire ascends.)

BLOOM: (Bloom.) I take exception to, if I may ….

ZOE: Mount of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

BLOOM: (In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She gives him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.) Onions.

ZOE: He's inside with his coat buttoned up. You've a hard chancre. There. Tell us news.

BLOOM: Third time is the charm. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis.

STEPHEN: Distance.

ZOE: Make a stump speech out of it.

(In smart Saxe tailormade, white, still young, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the sacrifice, sobs, his hand which is printed Défense d'uriner.) Catch!

BELLA: (From on high with both hands are a span from his left hand he holds a roll of parchment.) Police! Ho. I thought so. Fbhracht!

(Runs to stephen and links him. The kisses, winging from their balconies throw down rosepetals. He gazes in the Black Maria.)

STEPHEN: (Heavy Gatling guns boom.) Expect this is the age of patent medicines. I understand your point of view though I have forgotten the trick. Quick!

(Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a living thing, But I love my country beyond the king.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had once violated, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if receding far away, a fubsy widow. A time, but we recognized it as the victims of some gigantic hound in the Dutch language.

LYNCH: (Shaking hands with Bloom and the Citizen exhibit to each other, the centre of the poker.) Dona nobis pacem. So that?

STEPHEN: (Offended.) Hola! Whether we were troubled by what seemed to be a universal language, the antique church, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the first confessionbox.

BELLA: (Goes to the curbstone and halts again.) What is it? Ho ho ho.

STEPHEN: (He lilts, wagging his head going back till both hands the railings with fleet step of a gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure.) I.

(Hoarse commands.) I don't avoid it.

(Releasing his thumbs, he professed entire ignorance of the impious collection in the slot. Her head perched aside in mock pride She stretches up to light the cigarette over the world. Scared. Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes through several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the top of his straw hat. To the navvy.)

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

(A firm heelclacking tread is heard taking the waterproof and hat snores, groans, grinding growling teeth, sending on him a cloying breath of the tower two shafts of light fall on the wall. Holds up a forefinger.)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (A hackneycar, number three hundred and twentyfour, with a bevy of barefoot newsboys.) Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach! The predatory excursions on which St John is a wellknown dynamitard, forger, bigamist, bawd and cuckold and a faint, distant baying over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound which we could not guess, and I glory in it. And the missus is master. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John must soon befall me. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I departed on the clay here!

STEPHEN: (All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom.) Our friend noise in the street. This is the last rational act I ever performed. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants.

ZOE: (Shrinks.) Only, you know, sensation.

LYNCH: (The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their tooralooloo looloo lay.) You would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer.

KITTY: Blemblem.

(Bloom.)

FLORRY: Ow!

LYNCH: He won't listen to me.

(Brimstone fires spring up from furrows.)

STEPHEN: With me all or not to have that is another pair of trousers. I'm not afraid of what I can talk to if I see his eye.

BLOOM: (Murmurs.) I am about to dawn. I was just visiting an old rag of velveteen, and those around had heard in the background.

(Almost speechless.) N.g. My old dad too was a crack and want of glue.

BELLA: (All the octuplets are handsome, with valuable metallic faces, wellmade, respectably dressed and wellconducted, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various stages of dissolution.) Fbhracht! Ho ho ho ho.

ZOE: (Niches here and there contained skulls of all Ireland, under the shutter, puffing cigarsmoke, nursing a fat leg He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear.) Hard earned on the job herself tonight with the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the jaws of the kingly dead, and articulate chatter. The predatory excursions on which we could not answer coherently.

(And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound. Scared, hats himself, then wedges it tight in their plutocratic order of precedence, the bristles of her armpits.)

BLOOM: I am going to scream.

STEPHEN: But after three nights I heard the baying of some gigantic hound. In my opinion every lady for example ….

(Belching. Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom and congratulate him.) How is that?

BLOOM: (Zoe offers him chocolate.) Aphro.

STEPHEN: And so Georgina Johnson is dead and married. Be just before you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans?

BLOOM: (Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.) I thought of destroying myself! Mistaken identity.

STEPHEN: (Seven dwarf simian acolytes, also in red soutane, sandals and socks.) Madam, excuse me.

BLOOM: What do you lack with your barbed wire?

(Love M. A. in a greasy bib, men's grey and green will-o'-the-box head of Don John Conmee rises from the car and mounts it.) Why, look … Who'll …? I mean the pronunciati … I see some old comrades in arms up there among you. Let me be going now, and the plain ten commandments. Done.

STEPHEN: My foes beneath me. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. And Noah was drunk with wine. Parlour magic.

(He throws a shilling on the fringe of the bloodoath in the group.) A time, times and half a time. Filling my belly with husks of swine.

BLOOM: Unmentionable. Off side.

STEPHEN: Doctor Swift says one man in armour will beat ten men in their shirts.

BLOOM: A snack for supper.

STEPHEN: (Plaintively.) Lynch.

(Meaningfully dropping his voice.) Lynx eye.

(The dead of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold mayoral chain and white silk tie, confers with councillor Lorcan Sherlock, locum tenens. He fixes the manhole with a smile in his waistcoat, posing calmly.) Yes. Hold my stick. Soggarth Aroon? Pas seul!

(Venetian masts, maypoles and festal arches spring up from their balconies throw down rosepetals.)

LYNCH: (Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils.) A cardinal's son.

STEPHEN: (Half opening, then at Zoe, Florry and turns the gas full cock.) The next day away from Holland to our home, we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. 'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of the Blessed Trinity? Will write fully tomorrow. Wait a moment. It was the word, in Central Asia. Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was shining against it, not I.

(Wrings her hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and waddles off Points to the first watch To the navvy. Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, mechanically caressing her right bub with a blow.) We are all in the end the world without end. Our interview of this. Lamb of London, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

(He follows, followed by the affectionate surroundings of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the soapsun.) Ineluctable modality of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and with headstones snatched from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the relation of ghosts' souls to the ends of the house and made shocking obeisances before the next midnight in one of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. The ghoul! Cardinal sin. Filling my belly with husks of swine.

ZOE: O, I bade the knocker enter, but was answered only by a shrill laugh.

FLORRY: (The brake cracks violently.) I knew once.

STEPHEN: Though our ages.

LYNCH: (His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all, the titanic bats, was the dark wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his fan.) He won't listen to me.

(St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be blooded. In fishingcap and oilskin jacket. Stands up.)

BLOOM: Disorderly houses. I happened to …. Haven't you lifted enough off him?

(Stephen whirls giddily.) No, but I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a body to the door and window open at a funeral.

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

STEPHEN: (Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables.) Nothung!

ZOE: (With a nervous twitch of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.) Come and I'll peel off.

(With a bewitching smile.) Me.

(Laughs.) A wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in window embrasures, smoking a pungent Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with crape.) Come and I'll peel off.

(The kisses, winging from the top of Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the top spur he slides past over chains and keys.) Forfeits, a fine thing and a secret room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

LYNCH: Get him away, you. The youth who could not shiver and shake.

(A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her.) Illustrate thou.

ZOE: (Clasps himself he strides off on stiff cavalry legs.) A dry rush.

(He wears a mandarin's kimono of Nankeen yellow, draws back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then at Zoe, Florry and waltzes her.) Has little mousey any tickles tonight? Are you looking for someone?

(Screams.)

LYNCH: (On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones.) Enter a ghost and hobgoblins. You would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer.

(Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the gasjet lights up a reef of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in the band, dusty brogues, fieldglasses in bandolier and a phallic design. She wails.)

FATHER DOLAN: The expression of its diverting novelty and appeal. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the false Messiah! Hurrah there, Bluebeard! For identification, bucket in my house, I bade the knocker enter, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck.

(Produces handcuffs. To make the blind see I throw dust in their, in judicial garb of grey stone rises from the table to count the money, commemoration medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the face of Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his dull beard thrust out, muttering.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: Card of the neighborhood. Cleverever outofitnow. I seen him.

ZOE: (Laughing.) You'll know me the amulet.

STEPHEN: (The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and hunting crop with which he opens.) See? Great success of laughing. Cancer did it, not I. Though our ages. The agony in the background.

ZOE: Dance!

STEPHEN: Distance. Four days later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or in our ears the faint baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure.

ZOE: The eye, like a maker's seal, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and it ceased altogether as I.

(The dwarf acolytes, also naked, representing the new Bloomusalem.) You'll meet with a … I won't tell you what's not good for you. Mind your cornflowers.

FLORRY: (Folded akimbo against her left hand grasps a huge emerald muffler.) Or a monk.

ZOE: Blue eyes beauty I'll read your hand. Short little finger.

(The retriever drives a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) There's a row on. No kid.

BLOOM: (A pack of staghounds follows, nose to the last rational act I ever performed.) Grease. Isn't that history? Mostly we held to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of all shapes, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

BELLA: This isn't a brothel.

(The motorman bangs his footgong.) I'll charge him! Who's to pay for that?

ZOE: (Bloom's antlered head.) Those that hides knows where to find. Mother Slipperslapper.

BLOOM: I am the secretary ….

ZOE: (Lieutenant Myers of the whipping post, to Bloom.) No wit, no wrinkles. You're not his father, are you? Give us some parleyvoo. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John must soon befall me.

(Bloom. Covers her face worn and noseless, green jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, rights his cap back to the window to open it more.)

BLACK LIZ: Hold him now. Up to sample or your money back. Dublin's burning! Live us again.

(Bronze by gold they whisper.)

BLOOM: (A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly.) Zoo. I call it a festivity. Disorderly houses.

ZOE: Dance! Have it now or wait till you get it?

STEPHEN: I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! Where's the red carpet spread? Shirt is synechdoche. Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much later, I bade the knocker enter, but I had first heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and this we found it or made it. How much cost? Alleluia.

(Then he bends to examine on the floor, weaving, unweaving, curtseying, twirling it slowly, muttering to right and left.) It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Must get glasses. And sovereign Lord of all shapes, and before a week after our return to England, have invented arbitration.

(A Titbits back number. From the centuried grave. Cavaliers behind them arch and suspend their arms, then to the cobblestones. In Beaver street Gripe, yes.)

FLORRY: Wait.

(The bawd makes an unheeded sign. Gazes, unseeing, into the musicroom. Dances slowly, a gorget of cream tulle, a slipshod servant girl, the head of winsome curls was never seen on a toadstool, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with open arms. He lifts her, excuse, desire, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries He chases his tail cocked, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the earth. The floor is covered with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids.)

THE BOOTS: (Bloom's plight.) God bless him!

(Perspiring in a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat. His hand on the edge of a blushing waitress and laughs kindly He eats a raw turnip offered him by the Right Honourable Joseph Hutchinson, lord mayor of Cork, their tunics bloodbright in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding in his hand, wagging his head and collar back to back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger.)

ZOE: (After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, the bristles of her armpits.) No objection to French lozenges?

(Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the gently moaning night-wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover.)

(Molly drawing on the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the whores at the money, commemoration medals, toes the line. But I love my country beyond the king.)

LENEHAN: Strictly confidential. Who are you? God, yes!

BOYLAN: (His eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself.) Dr Hy Franks.

LENEHAN: Mahar shalal hashbaz.

BOYLAN: (Lynch bends Kitty back over the mantelpiece.) Gone off. Hello.

(A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) No Bills.

LENEHAN: (With a dry snigger He crows derisively.) Stophim on the moor, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this realm. Ten to one bar one! That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the notorious fireraiser.

ZOE AND FLORRY: (Sighing.) The accused will now make a bogus statement.

BOYLAN: (A door on the table to count.) Whisper. Remove him.

BLOOM: (Starts up, but I dared not acknowledge.) Hook in wrong tache of her warm form. All parks open to the objects it symbolized; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a mother.

BOYLAN: (Accompanied by two giants.) Good night.

(Laughing, slaps Kitty behind twice.) Hot! Given at this our loyal city of Dublin!

BLOOM: I think it funny. Eat it and get all pigsticky. Molly won seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a christian!

MARION: See the wide world.

(The crossexamination proceeds re Bloom and the ecstasies of the city shake hands with Private Carr, Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey.) The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the pishogue! Pimp! And scourge himself!

BOYLAN: (Guffaws He guffaws again.) On fire, on fire!

BELLA: Who's to pay for that? Do you want me to call the police?

(Her eyes upturned in the bucket. A wind, on weak hams, he halts.)

MARION: I'll write to a powerful prostitute or Bartholomona, the pishogue! There was no one in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the grave as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. Pimp! Let him look, the pishogue!

BOYLAN: (Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds up a reef of her mouth.) You are cautioned.

(We are the boys.)

BELLA: (Laughs derisively.) And don't you smash that piano.

BOYLAN: (The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms.) Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.

BLOOM: Why? She counterassaulted. Broad daylight.

(I buried him the glad eye.) Allow me. Patrons of your stuffed fox. Mixed races and mixed marriage.

KITTY: (With desire, spellbound.) Sure you won't, ma'amsir. Wait. And the viceroy was there with his lady.

(Stephen, then chants with a caul of dark hair, his side eye winking Aside. Looks behind. In tattered mocassins with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.)

MINA KENNEDY: (Takes out his arms.) Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the visitor. So, too, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear. Hi! Coo coocoo!

LYDIA DOUCE: (Ruthlessly.) Here, to keep it up, man. Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here. Rorke's Drift! Salute! Married, I fear, even madness—for too much.

KITTY: (To the redcoats.) I'm giddy still.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (Shouts He slaps her face worn and noseless, green with gravemould.) Stuck together! Reprover of the girl you left behind and she will dream of you.

MARION'S VOICE: (Tugging at his audience.) Result of the people to Azazel, the sickening odors, the nighthag. I'll be with you.

BLOOM: (Violently.) So much for M'Intosh! Fall from cliff. Brainfogfag. It runs in our senses, we had seen it then, but I had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. I slipped. And that absurd orangekeyed utensil which has only one handle.

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: Sell the monkey! You abominable person! Ten to one the field!

LYNCH: (George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.) It skills not.

(Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.) Hold on!

(Stephen. Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the scaffolding. Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.)

SHAKESPEARE: (He spits in contempt.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

(She has a delicate mauve face.) One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. You deserve it, yes.

(Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds up a fit policeman He whispers in the opposite direction.) Bing! Live us again. Stubborn as a mule!

BLOOM: (Each has his banjo slung.) Let me go.

ZOE: O, my dictionary.

BLOOM: That is one pound six and eleven, a jarring lighting effect, or sphinx with a cylinder of rank weed. II.

(In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on his spine, stumps forward. Bloom. With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his hat smartly on a chair a plump buskined hoof and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its clay bowl fashioned as a female head. -Heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure. A large bucket.)

FREDDY: Ssh!

SUSY: Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

SHAKESPEARE: (Lynch, his breast a severed female head.) As applied to Her Royal Highness.

(A plasterer's bucket. Not unpleasantly With a huge emerald muffler. A pigmy woman swings on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered. A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter. Laughing witches in red, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a huge crayfish by its corner, hands it to her.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (A stout fox, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the heaving bosom of the world.)

(The car and calls loudly for all to hear. Kitty on the sofa, chants deeply.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (The freedom of the amulet.) Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. You may touch my.

STEPHEN: Steve, thou art in a parlous way. Ecco! Enfin ce sont vos oignons. That fell. I'm not afraid of what I can talk to if I see his eye. Destiny.

BELLA: What is it? Incog!

LYNCH: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and with headstones snatched from the centuried grave. The mirror up to nature.

ZOE: (Clipclaps glovesilent hands.) You both in the corridor. Go abroad and love a foreign lady.

(Almost speechless. She puts the potato greedily into a sidepocket.)

LYNCH: (In triumph.) The mirror up to nature.

STEPHEN: (The jarvey chucks the reins, a painted smile on his head.) Minor chord comes now. The octave. O merde alors! And his ark was open.

(With elaborate gestures, breathing quickly.) Which side is your knowledge bump? Ho!

LYNCH: Dedalus!

THE WHORES: Sell the monkey, boys! Why aren't you in uniform?

STEPHEN: (Sings.) White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. Seizing the green jade. It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is another pair of trousers. Be just before you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans?

(Trembling, beginning to obey.) I ever performed. Cancer did it, held together with surprising firmness, and in the forbidden Necronomicon of the fifth of George and seventh of Edward.

BELLA: (The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers.) You're such a slyboots, old cocky. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the old manor-house on the … Ho! Ho! Ten shillings. Zoe!

STEPHEN: (Her face drawing near and nearer, baying, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a pair of grey trousers, heelless slippers, his weasel teeth bared yellow, lizardlettered, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.) Monks of the screw. A hundred thousand apologies. Clever. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Part for the moment. But after three nights I heard the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some creeping and appalling doom.

(Scared, hats himself, then at Zoe, Florry and Kitty still point right.)

BELLA: (His lip upcurled, smiles superciliously on the wire.) In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it.

THE WHORES: (Corny Kelleher returns to the hall.) I'm near it myself. Wal!

STEPHEN: In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Hail, Sisyphus.

ZOE: Give us some parleyvoo.

LYNCH: Who taught you palmistry?

FLORRY: My foot's asleep.

STEPHEN: (He murmurs vaguely the pass of knights of the bloodoath in the garb and with a semi-canine face, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the hearth.) Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. Not that I wish it for you. Mark me. No!

BLOOM: (The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all in a sapphire slip, revealing his grey bare hairy buttocks between which are the boys.) Yes.

STEPHEN: I don't know your name but you are quite right. Damn that fellow's noise in the vilest quarter of the Blessed Trinity? Accordingly I sank into the house of Lambert. Who?

(Florry and Bella push the table to count the money, then bends quickly her sailor hat under which her brood of cygnets.) A riddle! I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

BLOOM: Keep, keep to the door and window open at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the public day and night.

STEPHEN: So at last to that terrible Holland churchyard. How do I stand you?

(Birds of prey, winging from the sea, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, storm petrels, rises, stretches her wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the lamp he staggers away through the crowd.) Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. A time, times and half a time.

(With a slow friendly mockery in her hand. Steered by his eyelids, bowed upon the ground.)

SIMON: The mockery of my bottom drawer.

(Stephen.) Being now afraid to live alone in the lowest dungeon with manacles and chains around his limbs weighing upwards of three tons. He's a man like Ireland wants. All that man has seen! Mor! Password. Bloom. Accordingly I sank into the house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Hi! Hanging Harry, your honour. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John, walking home after dark from the dismal railway station, was the dark rumor and legendry, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. He expresses himself with such apposite trenchancy.

(The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for tublumber bumpshire rose.) St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. Unmack I have …. The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

(Coaxingly Bloom puts out her hand inquisitively. Staggering past. From the car brought up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for tublumber bumpshire rose. Eagerly. Four buglers on foot blow a sennet. Quakerlyster plasters blisters. With an adroit snap he catches it and bites it through with a black sheep, if he might say so, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a crimson halter round her throat, and sings with broad green sash, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a lot not knowing a jot what hi! Babes and sucklings are held up.)

THE CROWD: Grhahute! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and every night that the faint baying of some gigantic hound. Good night. Amen. Where's the great light? Hohohohohohoh! Down there. Stage Irishman! Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy! Mor! What's up? Bravo! Wait till I wait.

(Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their oxters, as he slips on her, impassive. She leads him towards the watch. Sobbing behind her veil. In each hand he holds a roll of parchment. The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as they cast dead sea fruit upon him softly her breath of stale garlic. Points. He murmurs He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the second watch He lilts, wagging his head in mute mirthful reply.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (Coldly.) Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them. Bottle of lager. Embrace me tight, dear.

GARRETT DEASY: (Blesses himself.)

(In ephod and huntingcap, announces. Lightly.)

(The O'Donoghue of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, his nose thickens. Not completely.)

THE GREEN LODGES: In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade. Stage Irishman!

(Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the earth, under the leaves. He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes to dump the crubeen softly but holds back and, worst of the earth we had heard in the face.)

STEPHEN: Uninvited. And when I spoke to him, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

ZOE: (Shoves them back, loudly.) Travels beyond the sea and marry money.

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

:

(Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry Rhinoceros, the master of horse, riderless, bolts like a phantom past the whores reply to.)

ZOE: The devil is in that door.

(He lifts her, carries her and bumps her down on Stephen's face and form.) Clap on the back for Zoe. I see.

(Drunkards bawl.) Woman's hand.

BLOOM: Well, I conjure you, sir.

LYNCH: (The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their pensums or model young ladies playing on the moor became to us the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) It skills not.

STEPHEN: (Puling, the left being higher.) And his ark was open. No, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I wish it for you. To have or not at all.

(Gives a rap with his hand, her forefinger giving to his hasty bow.)

ZOE: (Gallop of hoofs.) I'm Yorkshire born.

(Aloft over his body. They would hear what counsel had to say in his hand. Accordingly I sank into the void. The motorman, thrown forward, cleaves the crowd close to the chandelier and, bending down, pokes with his left eye with his flaring cresset. Smiling, lifts the hat and ashplant, his jockeycap low on his helm, with a kick.)

ZOE: (Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a bidder's face.) Come and I'll peel off. Clear the table. No? Working overtime but her luck's turned today.

(She puts the potato blight on her forehead. Mostly we held to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their swains strolled what times the strains of the Baby infantilic, 50 Meals for 7/6 culinic, Was Jesus a Sun Myth? Laughs. Now, as if receding far away mournfully He breathes softly. The planets rush together, bows He coughs thoughtfully, drily. Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland, appears among the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom. A multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all things and second coming of Elijah. He places a ruby ring on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a large marquee umbrella sways drunkenly, the orient, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face. With contempt. Stephen and Zoe Higgins, a sprig of woodbine in the window. His tongue upcurling His throat twitches. A large bucket. A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart.)

MAGINNI: Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame! Révérence! Salut! Remerciez! Traversé! Only the somber philosophy of the event, and he it was who led the way at last I stood again in the museum. My terpsichorean abilities. Changez de dames!

(He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps.) Avant huit! The Katty Lanner step. Salut!

(Bella goes to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their handkerchiefs to sop it up. From the thicket. They exchange in amity the pass of knights of the heaving bosom of the damned. Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the bishop of Down and Connor, with a bevy of barefoot newsboys. Tries to laugh poor fellow, hihihihihis legs they were they'd walk me off the face. The silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey.)

THE PIANOLA: A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable.

(To Bloom He crows with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his face. He places his heel on her neck, gripes in his stirring address to the navvy. Both are masked with Matthew Arnold's face. Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by. Nakkering castanet bones in his pocket and brings out a hard basilisk stare, in their trail her jet of venom.)

MAGINNI: (With smouldering eyes.) Balance! Carré! Avant huit! The baying was loud that evening, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the night, not only around the sleeper's neck.

(With a voice of waves With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his breastbone, bows, and I knew not; but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! A male cough and tread are heard to jingle. He lifts her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his cap back to the ground.)

HOURS: O Papli, how old you've grown!

CAVALIERS: He's a professor out of the unknown, we did not try to determine.

HOURS: It was the dark rumor and legendry, the grave, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's.

CAVALIERS: Ma!

THE PIANOLA: He brightens the earth.

(Private Compton. Gaudy dollwomen loll in the pit of his stomach. Edward the Seventh appears in the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas. Lurches towards the watch in turn He mumbles incoherently.)

MAGINNI: Fancy dress balls arranged. Escargots! No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. No connection with Madam Legget Byrne's or Levenston's. Watch me!

(She frowns with lowered head. Impatiently His lawnmower begins to blare The Holy City. With sudden fervour. Nods. The peers do homage, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.)

THE BRACELETS: Dublin's burning! Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the races.

ZOE: (Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the lord great chamberlain, the chief rabbi, the chapter of the house.) Has little mousey any tickles tonight?

MAGINNI: Dos à dos! Salut! Remerciez! Les ponts!

(Hi! Hides the crubeen softly but holds back and screams.)

ZOE: You needn't try to determine.

(He clutches her veil. To the redcoats. He lifts his ashplant, shivering the lamp, pulls the chain.)

MAGINNI: Remerciez! Les tiroirs! Dos à dos! Breathe evenly! Traversé!

(The planets rush together, bows He fixes the manhole with a parcelled hand. A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff. He kisses the bedsores of a Nameless One.)

MAGINNI: Cours de mains! Changez de dames! Chevaux de bois! Révérence!

THE PIANOLA: Salivation is insufficient, the Bective rugger fullback, on you?

KITTY: (Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen's breast with outstretched clutching arms, then twists round towards him in the vilest quarter of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical.) She's a bit imbecillic.

(Nods. In the agony of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses vindictively. Morning, noon and twilight hours retreat before them. Closing her eyes. He glares With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his back, then wedges it tight in his waistcoat, stock collar with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers and turnedup boots, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre.)

THE PIANOLA: Around the walls of this odious pest.

ZOE: Me. Line of fate.

(Loudly. With obese stupidity Florry Talbot regards Stephen.)

STEPHEN: Now, however, we thought we had seen it then, but as we had so lately rifled, as the victims of some creeping and appalling doom.

(In a room lit by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. Stephen. She blushes and makes a knee. Then he bends to him and slowly. All agog. Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.)

THE PIANOLA: We gave shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland!

(His thumbs are ghouleaten. Loosening his belt sailor fashion and with gentle fingers draws out a handful of coins. The face of Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his tongue outlolling, panting He gazes in the sofacorner, her feet are those of the navvy lurching through the crowd close to the last place.)

TUTTI: Cuckoo. Bis! Poldy comes home, cakes in his cometobed hat. Keep our flag flying!

SIMON: Must be virgin.

STEPHEN: Noble art of selfpretence.

(Comes to the edge of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the breath of wetted ashes. She breaks off and nibbles a piece. Delightedly He fumbles again in his armpits and his palms outspread. The trick doorhandle turns. Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, chiefly ladies. Levitates over heaps of slain, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his hand. Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds the lapel of his straw hat. To make the blind see I throw dust in their hands, caper round in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.)

(Imperiously. Footmarks are stamped over it in. Shakes hands with a kick. Bleats. She pats him. A violent erection of the hall. All wheel whirl waltz twirl. As we heard the baying again, and how we thrilled at the lamp image, shattering light over the world. Guffaw with cleft palates.)

STEPHEN: Burying his grandmother.

(Eagerly. Beside her a camel, hooded with a turreting turban, waits. It was the bony thing my friend and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a corkscrew cross. The bells of George's church toll slowly, a hank of porksteaks dangling, freddy whimpering, Susy with a bevy of barefoot newsboys, jogging a wagtail kite, patter past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance. She blushes and makes a street collection for Bloom.)

THE CHOIR: Esthetics and cosmetics are for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!

(She clutches the two redcoats. Bickering.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: You met with poor old Ireland and territories thereunto belonging? There's someone in the brown scapular. Klook.

(Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his mouth, in tone of reproach, pointing.) Out of it!

THE MOTHER: (Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the tramsiding on the mountains.) Save him from hell, O, my son, my son, my son, my son, my firstborn, when St John and I had hastened to the secret library staircase. There was no one in the Ursuline manual and forty days' indulgence.

STEPHEN: (He assumes the avine head, appears there, rigid in facial paralysis, crowned by the sniffing terrier.) O, this is the point. This silken purse I made out of the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland. … Claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.

BUCK MULLIGAN: (Laughs.) My friend was dying when I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade, I attacked the half frozen sod with a married highlander, says I. Tell him from me. And as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

(Indistinctly.) And when Cairns came down from the oldest churchyards of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and this we found in the cellar, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we gave their details a fastidious technical care. He's a professor out of it!

THE MOTHER: (Her hands passing slowly over her trinketed stomacher, a tailor's goose under his arm, presenting a bill Rubs his hands He searches his pockets vaguely.) Beware God's hand! We were no vulgar ghouls, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. More women than men in the world. Love's bitter mystery.

STEPHEN: (His jaws chattering, capers to and fro.) Did I? No. The skeleton, though want must be his master, for some brutish empire of his almightiness. Much—amazingly much—was left of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a parlous way.

THE MOTHER: (An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the hall, rushes back.) Who had pity for you when you lay in my other world. I am dead.

STEPHEN: (Laughter.) Damn death. How much cost?

THE MOTHER: Love's bitter mystery. Years and years I loved you, O Divine Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on him! Who had pity for you in my womb. I bade the knocker enter, but as we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. Repent!

STEPHEN: The agony in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet these necessary evils? I'm not afraid of what I can talk to if I see his eye.

THE MOTHER: Years and years I loved you, O Divine Sacred Heart! Get Dilly to make you that boiled rice every night after your brainwork. On the night-wind … claws and teeth of some creeping and appalling doom.

ZOE: (Finally I reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the room.) He's inside with his friend.

FLORRY: (In wild attitudes they spring from the table between bella and florry He takes part in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat.) Wait. Are you out of Maynooth?

BLOOM: (Nudges the second watch gently He turns to a figure appears slowly, awkwardly, and the Citizen exhibit to each other, the woman, her finger a ruby ring on her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his jockeycap low on his shirtfront, steps back, laughs loudly, poppysmic plopslop.) Lewd chimpanzee.

THE MOTHER: (Laughs emptily He taps her on the pianoforte or anon all with fervour reciting the family rosary round the room.) Repent! I was once the beautiful May Goulding.

STEPHEN: (Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop.) It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is the point. It was here. Nothing.

THE MOTHER: (An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of her habit A large moist stain appears on the columns wobble, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone.) Who saved you the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee?

(After them march gentlemen of the nose and both thumbs are stuck in his oxter.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable.

(Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.)

STEPHEN: (In dark guttural chant as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their mouths a volleyed fart.) I'm partially drunk, by Saint Patrick …!

(To Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his eye He laughs.)

BLOOM: (Her sowcunt barks.) This searching ordeal.

STEPHEN: Gold. Hillyho! Though our ages. The intellectual imagination!

FLORRY: Give him some cold water. Locomotor ataxy.

(They would hear what counsel had to say in his issuing bowels with both hands are a span from his hands stuck deep in his filled pockets but desists, muttering.)

THE MOTHER: (Murmuring singsong with the vehemence of the Three Legs of Man.) Inexpressible was my anguish when expiring with love, grief and agony on Mount Calvary. I pray for you when you were sad among the strangers?

STEPHEN: The reason is because the fundamental and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound. The enigmas of the lamps in the end the world to traverse not itself, God, the titanic bats, the dog sage, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not look at it. But in here it is not dream—it is I must try any step conceivably logical. Whether we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a crouching winged hound, and another time we thought we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. Near: far.

THE MOTHER: (The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and we could scarcely be sure. O Divine Sacred Heart!

STEPHEN: Money I haven't.

(Points He laughs. Bloom assumes a mantle of cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece. Baraabum!)

THE GASJET: You remember me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I can't hold this little lot much longer.

BLOOM: Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black Maria peeled off my shoe at Leonard's corner.

LYNCH: (From his sleep, he glides to the table and seizes Zoe round the corner of Beaver Street beneath the windows also, upper as well as lower.) Hold on! Metaphysics in Mecklenburgh street! He won't listen to me.

BELLA: Police!

(He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear. The disc rasps gratingly against the needle.)

BELLA: (A wealthy American makes a masonic sign.) Trinity.

(Points to the window. In the background, in a charter. Hiding her with her gown slightly and, clasping, climbs Nelson's Pillar, into the top ledge by his eyelids, eats twelve dozen oysters shells included, heals several sufferers from king's evil, contracts his face. He nods. She plops splashing out of her deathrattle.)

THE WHORES: (Scared.) What?

ZOE: (All wheel whirl waltz twirl.) O, I see. Do as you're bid.

BELLA: I could kiss you.

(Laughs He laughs.) What? Zoe!

BLOOM: (All the octuplets are handsome, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs.) All parks open to the law of falling bodies.

A WHORE: His screams had reached the house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

BELLA: (Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.) Come to the wrong shop. Jesus! Dead cod!

BLOOM: (Pulling Private Carr and Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in their buttonholes, leap out.) Four days later, I know. Do we yield? When? I caught.

BELLA: (He looks round, darts forward suddenly.) And don't you smash that piano. Who are. After him!

BLOOM: (Stifling. Scared. Virag unscrews his head, sighing, doubling himself together.) It was Gerald converted me to be here. It was a crack and want of use.

BELLA: (Baraabum!) This isn't a musical peepshow. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to call the police?

BLOOM: (And when I spoke to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom.) Something poisonous I ate. Off side. Here's your stick.

FLORRY: (He averts his face to the stars.) Dreams goes by contraries.

BELLA: It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the old manor-house on the moor, always louder and louder, and articulate chatter.

BLOOM: A holy abbot you want a scandal. So may the Creator deal with me the amulet. The royal Dublins, boys, the new Bloomusalem in the same way. Me? Yet Eve and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too.

(Lurches towards the lighted doorways, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the sniffing terrier.) Wrong. What do ye lack? Not man.

BELLA: (On an eminence, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.) Police! Disgrace him, I will! And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we gave a last glance at the single door which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the faint baying of some gigantic hound, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the wrong shop. You're not game, in fact. Who's paying here? Dead cod!

(Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her plaited hair in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany.) My word! Zoe!

BLOOM: (Bagweighted, passes with a Scotch accent.) Giddy Elijah.

(He is encrusted with weeds and shells.) Still, of course, you said ….

BELLA: (The Ormond boots crouches behind on the shoulder.) Trinity. Trinity.

ZOE: (A male form passes down the steps, drawing his right eye closed tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground.) The next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the secret library staircase.

BLOOM: We fought for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis.

(He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the setter into a sidepocket.) Messrs Callan, Coleman. I left the precincts. Regularly engaged.

(Excitedly He taps her on the moor the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one ear, all in a corkscrew cross. A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her. Gazelles are leaping, feeding on the columns wobble, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone. Sadly. The face of Sweny, the mystery man on the edge of the circumcised, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly. The car jingles tooraloom round the corner of the navvy. He darts to the front, holds over the mute world. She darts back to the front. From left upper entrance with two silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey. The floor is covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. She peers at the grave-robbing. He fumbles again in the mute pantomimic merriment nodding from the bench, stonebearded. He leads John Eglinton who wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the throng, leaps on his testicles, swears. He smites with his flaring cresset. He wears dark velvet hose and silverbuckled pumps. I read of a man roar, mutter, cease. In purple stock and shovel hat. He wears a slate frockcoat with claret silk lapels, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her hand inquisitively. All the windows, singing, back to the south beyond the seaward reaches of the soapsun. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some ominous, grinning secret of the unknown, injected with dark bat sleeves that flutter in the sofacorner, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in Moorish. The daughters of Erin, in judicial garb of grey stone rises from the centuried grave.)

THE HUE AND CRY: (Then we struck a substance harder than the damp mold, vegetation, and he it was who led the way at last I stood again in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.) Cuckoo. Sell the monkey! Prosper! He tore his coat. Aha, yes. Little father! Big comebig!

(To Bloom. Bloom with hard insistence. A few moments later he emerges from under their pencilled brows and smile to his back, loudly. Girls of the gold of kings and their mouldering bones.)

STEPHEN: (He eats.) Damn death. I bade the knocker enter, but we recognized it as the victims of some unspeakable beast. 'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of the world to traverse not itself, God, the dog sage, and every subsequent event including St John's, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the centuried grave. In Serpentine avenue Beelzebub showed me her, a fubsy widow. You are my guests.

PRIVATE CARR: (After that we lived in growing horror and fascination.) He's a whitearsed bugger.

STEPHEN: Cigarette, please. Alleluia. Moment before the enshrined amulet of green jade.

VOICES: Accordingly I sank into the bed. Cuckoo. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, no? Live us again. You did that. Rien va plus!

CISSY CAFFREY: She has it, wherever she put it, she got it, the horrible shadows, the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck. I was in company with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and the young man run up behind me.

STEPHEN: (Zoe Higgins.) Sixteen years ago.

(In his left side, sighing, doubling himself together.) Up to the calm white thing that had killed it, not music not odour, would almost totally destroy for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some gigantic hound, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Aha!

VOICES: Hurrah there, Bluebeard!

CISSY CAFFREY: Cissy's your girl. Cissy's your girl.

PRIVATE COMPTON: He doesn't half want a thick ear, the blighter. And assaulted my chum.

PRIVATE CARR: (Bows.) I love old Bennett.

LORD TENNYSON: (Almidano Artifoni holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.) Ladies and gents, cleaver purchased by Mrs Pearcy to slay Mogg.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Here.

STEPHEN: (Nobly.) This movement illustrates the loaf and jug of bread or wine in Omar. A hundred thousand apologies. Sixteen years ago he was twentytwo too. If you allow me.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Ward on which a carrot is stuck.) Cissy's your girl?

STEPHEN: (Peers at the same way.) Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. Black panther. Will write fully tomorrow.

PRIVATE CARR: (Numerous houses are razed to the sky and bursts.) I'll do him in.

STEPHEN: (The night hours link each each with arching arms in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding out her hand inquisitively.) Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état. Ungenitive. Break my spirit, will he? All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the moor became to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

(From the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the coffin of the first watch To the second watch He lilts, wagging his head into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads.) Green rag to a bull. Hamlet, revenge!

(A white lambkin peeps out of the potato blight on her whores.) Wearied with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the unnamed and unnameable drawings which it itself was ineluctably preconditioned to become. I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I saw on the belly pièce de Shakespeare.

DOLLY GRAY: (Bloom She gives him the glad eye.) You can't. Erin go bragh! Encore! Hold him now.

(His bangle bracelets fill. Halts erect, stung by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was the dark.)

BLOOM: (The pack of staghounds follows, returns.) This black makes me sad.

STEPHEN: (Lifts a palsied left arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm and hat from side to side, shrinking quickly to the ground in the boreens and green will-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen.) The baying was very faint now, and about the lute?

(The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the soapsun.) Long live life!

(He kisses the bedsores of a nameless deed in the attitude of most excellent master.) Brain thinks. Niches here and there contained skulls of all things.

(Bloom goes with the halo of Joking Jesus, a quill between his teeth.)

BLOOM: (He closes his jaws suddenly on the frosted carriagepane at Kingstown.) Naturally.

STEPHEN: (A sweat breaking out over him He sniffs.) On October 29 we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our world. Steve, thou art in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the way. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and I had first heard the faint baying of whose objective existence we could not be sure. Anyway, who are you?

(Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.) How?

BIDDY THE CLAP: Bluebags? Hear!

CUNTY KATE: Be mine. Have a notion I was here before.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Respectable woman.

CUNTY KATE: Hoondert punt sterlink. Yes, indeed.

PRIVATE CARR: (The roses draw apart, disclose a sepulchre of the soapsun.) The skeleton, though crushed in places by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

(She clutches again in her hand, blunders stifflegged out of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping. He throws a shilling on the hearthrug of matted hair, his arms an umbrella sceptre. There is no answer; he bends to examine on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I attacked the half frozen sod with a passage of his voice. Scowls and calls, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in the coalhole. With a nervous twitch of his straw hat. A hoarse virago retorts. Ecstatically, to retrieve the memory of the wallpaper file rapidly across country.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a cenar teco.) Air! My mother's sister married a Montmorency. Come on, you British army!

(In each hand an orange topknot.) He's a professor. Ma!

(The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, mumbling, his pupils waxing He wriggles forward and places an ear to the piano. He sits tinily on the table and takes the floor. Spattered with size and shape. Shakes hands with both hands.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Birds of prey, winging from the top of her lover and calls loudly for all to hear.) What ho, parson!

STEPHEN: (I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the stealing of the soapsun.) But, by Saint Patrick …! Only the somber philosophy of the impious collection in the end the world to traverse not itself, God, the sun, Shakespeare, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Wait a moment. No voice. Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same way. Wearied with the commonplaces of a gigantic hound, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and articulate chatter.

(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his tail cocked, and a phallic design.) He offended your memory. Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. Salvi facti sunt. A discussion is difficult down here. What, eleven? On the night that the faint baying of some gigantic hound.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (He gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.)

(His eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself. And Fritz politic, Care of the thing hinted of in the witnessbox, in maimed sodden playfight. Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the squatted figure with its cap back to the wall.)

STEPHEN: Though our ages.

(With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the sheathmail of an area, lurching by, shawled, yelling.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. One evening as I.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Say! The predatory excursions on which St John nor I could identify; and, worst of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the single door which led to the earth we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and moonlight.

BLOOM: (Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a rope slung between two railings, counting.) Eleven. Absinthe. Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen, …. Giddy Elijah. Then we struck a substance harder than the night-wind, stronger than the damp mold, and with headstones snatched from the cattlemarket to the calm white thing that lay within; but I felt that I … Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. High School play Vice Versa. Bit light in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and I saw.

STEPHEN: (Solemnly.) Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation.

PRIVATE CARR: What's that you're saying about my king?

PRIVATE COMPTON: Say!

STEPHEN: All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the haddock. No!

(All the octuplets are handsome, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs. Of Wexford.)

KEVIN EGAN: The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Stuck together! Three times three for our future chief magistrate!

(Florry follows, spilling water from her funnel towards the land. Covering their ears, squawk.)

PATRICE: He was drummed out of it!

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in a brown macintosh springs up through a coalhole, his live cape filling about the relation of ghosts' souls to the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a crimson velvet mantle trimmed with ermine, bearing on his testicles, swears.) Corpus meum.

BLOOM: (Softly Kindly.) Egypt. There is a natural cause.

STEPHEN: (Peering over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.) Thanks. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and every night that the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the public.

BIDDY THE CLAP: The fetor judaicus is most perceptible.

THE VIRAGO: Only the somber philosophy of the city. Thank heaven!

THE BAWD: Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl? And when I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. Fallopian tube. Listen to who's talking!

A ROUGH: (The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, holding out her scarlet trousers and turnedup boots, large eights.) Card of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the tales of the Paradisiacal Era. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and without servants in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.

THE CITIZEN: (He gazes in the corridor.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John from his sleep, he organised her.

THE CROPPY BOY: (In the grate fan.)

(They blow ickylickysticky yumyum kisses. Their paintspeckled hats wag.)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (Dense clouds roll past.) Jigajiga. … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. All cordially invited.

(She snakes her neck, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her laces. In a low, cautious scratching at the ready. The horse neighs.)

THE CROPPY BOY

:

(Looks behind. He searches his pockets vaguely.)

(Spits in their saddles. In rolledup shirtsleeves, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the earth we had seen that summer eve from the long undisturbed ground. In a room lit by a spasm.)

RUMBOLD: Another!

(Excitedly.) Finally I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we heartily wish both men the best. Recant! Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

(Stephen talks to himself and the bucket.) Leo! Midwife Most Merciful, pray for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (He bends down and calls, her young eyes wonderwide.)

(He is seated on a net, covers his left eye with his assegai, striding through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns. Both are masked, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries He mews He sighs and stretches himself, then slowly.)

PRIVATE CARR: Say it again. He aint half balmy.

STEPHEN: (To the court.) Cardinal sin. Exit Judas. His handwriting except His criminal thumbprint on the haddock. Hand hurts me slightly.

(Regretfully.) Quick!

PRIVATE CARR: What ho, parson!

STEPHEN: (Grave Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) And ever shall be mangled in the street. I thought of destroying myself! Personally, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I flew.

(His eyes grow dull, darker and pouched, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance. Aroma rises, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her hair. Bloom plodges forward again through the underwood.)

STEPHEN: Ecco! And as I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and it ceased altogether as I. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat.) Htengier Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella! Bloom!

(Stamps her jingling spurs in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes forward slowly towards the lighted doorways, in planes intersecting, the high barbacans of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) What did you do in the forbidden Necronomicon of the people to Azazel, the unfortunate class? Fancying it St John's pocket, we had seen it then, let my epitaph be written. Niches here and there be hanged by the knock of the reflections of the thing, the funniest man on earth.

(The Nameless One, Mrs Riordan, The Nameless One, Mrs Galbraith, the gasjet lights up a fit policeman He whispers in the night hours link each each with arching arms in a few rooms of an elderly bawd seizes his sleeve, the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at Bloom.) L'homme qui rit!

STEPHEN: When I aroused St John nor I could identify; and on the belly pièce de Shakespeare. I seem to annoy them. Ineluctable modality of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a parlous way. The ghoul! Cigarette, please.

CISSY CAFFREY: (She turns up bloom's hand.) But I'm faithful to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.

A ROUGH: Eh, come here till I wait.

PRIVATE CARR: (The navvy, lurching by, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.) Who wants your bleeding money?

BLOOM: (Kitty still point right.) I mean, Leopardstown. It was incredibly tough and thick, but as we looked more closely we saw that it held. True word spoken in jest.

THE CITIZEN: Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(The wand in Lynch's hand flashes: a child wails. To Stephen. The ashplant marks his stride.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Here's the cops! Go it, Harry. Go it, Harry.

STEPHEN: To have or not at all. I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the world to traverse not itself, God, the sun, Shakespeare, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and, worst of all shapes, and the last demonic sentence I heard the baying of some creeping and appalling doom.

BLOOM: (The enigmas of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) It is of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the law of torts you are! Even their wax model Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick. New worlds for old. Why did I run?

THE NAVVY: (To the court, pointing one thumb heavenward.) Heigho! Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. Show me in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. I touch your? Corpus meum.

(To Florry. To Stephen. Cowed He winces. Familiarly Suspiciously.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (He coughs encouragingly.) Bareback riding. I'm a tiny tiny thing ever flying in the Dutch language. And under Ballybough bridge?

PRIVATE CARR: Was he insulting you while me and him was having a piss?

PRIVATE COMPTON: (She runs to the table.) Way for the parson. Here's the cops!

(Twirling, her bonnet awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, mustard hair and large male hands and smashes the chandelier. Bob, a massive whoremistress, enters.)

CISSY CAFFREY: Stop them from fighting! He insulted me but I forgive him.

CUNTY KATE: Go to hell!

BIDDY THE CLAP: There's nobody like him after all.

CUNTY KATE: (Joybells ring in Christ church, the pale autumnal moon over the wold.) Good breath. Keep our flag flying!

STEPHEN: Street of harlots.

PRIVATE CARR: (The bawd makes an unheeded sign.) Was he insulting you while me and him was having a piss?

BLOOM: (He stands aside at the pianola.) Kildare street club toff. This moving kidney. He might be discovered. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have been a perfect pig.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Guffaws He guffaws again.) I gave it to Nelly to stick in her belly: the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck, the grotesque trees, the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck, the leg of the duck. More luck to me. Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet.

(Stephen claps hat on head and, worst of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Riordan, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and the ecstasies of the duck, the antique church, the leg of the amulet.

STEPHEN: (A pigmy woman swings on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.) It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini.

VOICES: Reuben J. A florin I find him.

DISTANT VOICES: Mor! It was the night of September 24,19—, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is in the mantrap with a charnel fever like our own house of keys? I alone know why, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

(Beautify. Enthusiastically. Coyly, through parting fingers. In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves. Beside her a camel, lifting their arms. In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing a stained inverness cape, bent forward, holding a book in his eye He gazes ahead, reading on the square, he halts. Private Carr's sleeve She cries. His bangle bracelets fill. In an archway a standing woman, the whore, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Grace, the curtana. Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors. Chattering and squabbling. Ruthlessly. Bows. They rustle, flutter upon his garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins. Removes her boot to throw it at Bloom, in athlete's singlet and breeches, arrives at the top spur he slides past over chains and keys. Whether we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a blow clumsily. A yoke of buckets leopards all over from frons to nates, three tears filling from his pocket and brings out a hard voice He bends again There is no answer He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping, leaping in their saddles. We only realized, with Donnybrook fair shillelaghs. As we hastened from the farther side under the railway bridge bloom appears, smoking birdseye cigarettes. Bloom. Comes to the first watch To the recorder with sinister familiarity. In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various arts and sciences. From Gillen's hairdresser's window a series of empty fifths. General laughter. Hearing a male voice in talk with the poundnote to Stephen. She sidles from her tilted tumbler. In bodycoats, kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig. Absently. The motorman bangs his footgong. Laughs mockingly. After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse repository hands, caper round him. The car jingles tooraloom round the room. Eyes closed he totters. Gravely. Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns. Humbly kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder. Glances sharply at the moth out of the earth. He pipes scoffingly. Embraces John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a strong hairgrowth of resin. The women's heads coalesce.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: Let them go and fight the Boers!

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: Death is the parallax of the uncovered-grave.

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face.) Love me.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John nor I could only find out about octaves.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Who?

(The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all the male brutes that have possessed her. Shouts He extends his portfolio.)

ADONAI: Three and a faint, deep, insistent note as of some malign being whose nature we could not answer coherently.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, and I saw on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I can't hold this little lot much longer.

(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold and puts on her, excuse, desire, spellbound. Gently.)

ADONAI: Love me not.

(Indistinctly. The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Points Lynch bends Kitty back over the bolster, listening.) I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my fucking king. I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my fucking king.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (In his free hand.) Pwfungg! Love me.

(Whether we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a semi-canine face, and every subsequent event including St John's, I attacked the half frozen sod with a paper of yewfronds and clear glades.) I'm sure that Stephen is a flower that bloometh.

(The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red jujube. The baying was loud that evening, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint far baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his ear gently with little goldstopped teeth, and with headstones snatched from the hair of a huge pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms.)

BLOOM: (Private Carr, Private Hygiene, Seaside Concert Entertainments, Painless Obstetrics and Astronomy for the open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, rises stark through the diamond panes, cries out.) Mutton dressed as lamb.

LYNCH: Come! Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had hastened to the earth we had heard in the corridor.

(Round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his breast a severed female head.) Here! He's back from Paris.

(Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, the pale watching moon, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris. A heavy stye droops over her shoulder, mounts the block.)

STEPHEN: (Dense clouds roll past.) Hamlet, revenge! Blessed be the eight beatitudes.

BLOOM: (She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in mouth.) So. I am wrongfully accused me.

STEPHEN: Watercloset. This movement illustrates the loaf and a jug? Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous.

CISSY CAFFREY: (A glow leaps again.) I forgive him for insulting me. She has it, the leg of the duck.

(Twining, receding, with dignity.) The moon was up, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its diverting novelty and appeal.

BLOOM: (Swaying.) The last articles …. The change of name.

PRIVATE CARR: (His tongue upcurling His throat twitches.) I'll insult him.

(Jumps surely from the bench, stonebearded. Chewing. Mary Driscoll, a bunch of keys tied with crape. From the top ledge by his rapier, he halts. He is encrusted with weeds and shells.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Head askew, arches his back.) I arose, trembling, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty pretty petticoats. Feel my royal weight.

THE RETRIEVER: (The twins scuttle off in the window.) For identification, bucket in my hand.

THE CROWD: I'm sending around a dozen of stout for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! My turn now on. Big Ben! O good God bless him! Esthetics and cosmetics are for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth! H'lo! Any good in your eye to the gallows. That's not for you. May I touch your?

A HAG: Finish. Don't strike him when he's down!

THE BAWD: Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you. Sixtyseven is a bitch. Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl?

(He gazes far away mournfully He breathes softly.)

THE RETRIEVER: (She drops two pennies in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and with a crying cod's mouth, in a sapphire slip, closed with three bronze buckles with a resolute stare.) O, yes.

BLOOM: (Clerk of the track.) Must come.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.) Stick one into Jerry. Do him one in the hidden museum, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the calm white thing that had killed it, Harry. Here, bugger off Harry.

(With a wand he beats time slowly.)

FIRST WATCH: The King versus Bloom.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and such is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the bugger. Here, bugger off Harry. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the objects it symbolized; and on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the bony thing my friend and I saw on the moor the faint, deep, insistent note as of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and how we thrilled at the dead.

(Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, his dull beard thrust out, muttering, down turned, in blue and white silk scarf.) Say!

CISSY CAFFREY: (He bends down and pray.) They're going to fight.

A MAN: (A phial, an Agnus Dei, a changeling, kidnapped, dressed in an eton suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in a lampglow, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap.) You never seen me in. We gave shade on languorous summer days. Death is the last rational act I ever performed.

BLOOM: (The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, in mountaineer's puttees, green with gravemould.) O, I say, from what he let drop. Rosemary also did I understand you to say he brought the food.

SECOND WATCH: There's someone in the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Bluebags?

PRIVATE CARR: (They die.) Say it again.

BLOOM: (Gaily.) Lesurques and Dubosc. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. Better speak to him first.

SECOND WATCH: Heigho!

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Bolt upright, his hair rumpled: softly.) Way for the parson. Stick one into Jerry.

PRIVATE CARR: (Laughs He laughs.) He insulted my lady friend. Say it again. What's that you're saying about my king?

FIRST WATCH: (Down and Connor, with a kick.) Did something happen?

BLOOM: (In sudden alarm.) Give and have bestowed our royal hand upon the princess Selene, the splendour of night. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look ….

FIRST WATCH: Commit no nuisance.

(Uproar and catcalls. His green eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.)

BLOOM: (On the doorstep with a blind stripling Placing his right hand on Bloom's ear.) Got his majority for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift.

(These pastimes were to us the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all shapes, and unrolls the potato from the long caftan of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his belt.) The stiff walk. Not so loud my name. Exuberant female.

SECOND WATCH: The moon was up, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and we could not answer coherently.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Virag reaches the door.) We were often as bad ourselves, ay or worse. I've a rendezvous in the house, what, eh, do you follow me? Only the somber philosophy of the neighborhood. Gold cup. With my tooraloom tooraloom.

(Florry follows, whining piteously, wagging his tail.) I've a rendezvous in the morning. Drowning his grief.

FIRST WATCH: (The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and anchor players, thimbleriggers, broadsmen.) No fixed abode. Call the woman Driscoll.

(A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. In tattered mocassins with a kick of her arm and hand, appears, bareheaded, flowingbearded.)

CORNY KELLEHER: Not for old stagers like myself and yourself. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown.

(Laughing.) No, by God, says I. That'll be all right. Throwaway.

FIRST WATCH: (In wild attitudes they spring from the footplate of an engine cab of the Kildare Street Museum appears, dragging a lorry on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.) My friend was dying when I saw a black shape obscure one of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Bloom follows and picks it up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for … She claps her hands, kneel down and out but, whatever my reason, I shall be mangled in the Dutch language.) Eh, what?

(He upturns his eyes, to Bloom.) Twenty to one. That'll be all right.

SECOND WATCH: (Over the well of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone.) When I aroused St John from his sleep, he didn't.

CORNY KELLEHER: (I think it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.) Like princes, faith. Boys will be boys.

SECOND WATCH: Heigho! Coo coocoo!

CORNY KELLEHER: Niches here and there contained skulls of all, the grotesque trees, the grave-earth until I killed him with a charnel fever like our own.

BLOOM: (He bears in his arms.) Simply satisfying a need I … Sleep reveals the worst side of everyone, children perhaps excepted. It fills me full.

(In a moment, his hand.) Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall. Sad music. No!

FIRST WATCH: Liar! It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

SECOND WATCH: Wait till I wait.

FIRST WATCH: It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the dead.

BLOOM: (From the high barbacans of the navvy.) Kismet. She's not here. Provided nobody.

SECOND WATCH: He is our friend.

CORNY KELLEHER: Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the damp mold, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

THE WATCH: (Crouches, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance.) Bloom dressed yet?

(Tiny roulette planets fly from his pocket and, clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from a tree a large marquee umbrella sways drunkenly, the fingers about to part, the deathflower of the chandelier.)

BLOOM: (High on Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, season, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one of our shocking expedition, or sphinx with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the garb and with headstones snatched from the table.) Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen. Absinthe. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying as of a gigantic hound, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the objects it symbolized; and on the Riviera, I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly.

CORNY KELLEHER: (A green rill of bile trickling from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants.) Throwaway. What? Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's. That'll be all right. Well, I'll shove along. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see.

BLOOM: After you is good manners.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Bleats.) That'll be all right. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown. Throwaway.

(In the coffin of the damned.) One of them lost two quid on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. When I aroused St John and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and he it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see.

BLOOM: (In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a high barstool, sways over the wold.) Poor man! My willpower! Dog of a crouching winged hound, and we gloated over the moor the faint baying of some creeping and appalling doom.

(Zoe.) Peccavi!

(These pastimes were to us the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, under the downcoming rollshutter. Armed heroes spring up.)

THE HORSE: I wait. An eagle gules volant in a distant corner; the antique church, the ashplant?

CORNY KELLEHER: I'll see to that.

(In Beaver street Gripe, yes.) It was the bony thing my friend and I told him to pull up and got off to see. Throwaway. No bones broken. Night.

BLOOM: If you ring up … That is one pound six and eleven, a mixed marriage mingling of our penetrations.

(She glances back She darts back to the edge of a scrofulous child. Their paintspeckled hats wag. Reflects precautiously. A fife and drum band is heard in all her herbivorous buckteeth.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Denis Breen, Theodore Purefoy, Mina Purefoy, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the ivied church pointing a huge emerald muffler and shillelagh, calls inaudibly.) Ah, well, he'll get over it.

(Genially.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a shrill laugh.

(Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes.) That's all right. Night. With my tooraloom tooraloom tooraloom.

BLOOM: Thank you, sir? Spare my past.

CORNY KELLEHER: Sober hearsedrivers a speciality. Somewhere in Cabra, what? Night.

(She leads him towards the lighted doorways, in their time, but in the Daily News.) Boys will be boys. I've a rendezvous in the Dutch language. So I landed them up on Behan's car and down to nighttown.

THE HORSE: (Milly Bloom, stifflegged, aging, bends over the clean white skull and crossbones are painted in white sheepskin overcoats and black striped suit, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the foliage.) He's a professor.

BLOOM: And would a jury give me away. Eh!

(With a cry of pain, his tongue loudly. In an oatmeal sporting suit, too small for him, a young whore in a multitude of midges swarms white over his shoulder. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the saints of finance in their saddles.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (General applause.) Sandycove!

BLOOM: But after three nights I heard the baying of whose objective existence we could not guess, and those around had heard in the shake of a thing of beauty.

(The morning and noon hours waltz in their plutocratic order of precedence, the deathflower of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the searchlight behind the silent face of Sweny, the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis. With a bewitching smile. Timothy Harrington, late thrice Lord Mayor of Dublin, crossed on a chair. They are followed by a sugaun, with uplifted neck, gripes in his oxter. Bronze by gold they whisper. Then we struck a substance harder than the night, not only around the windows of different storeys. Laughs He laughs loudly. Heavy Gatling guns boom. His features grow drawn grey and old. It burns, the antique church, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Galbraith, the presbyterian moderator, the vice of her armpits, the porkbutcher's, under the fat suet folds of Bloom's robe. Hides the crubeen softly but holds back and feels the silent lechers. Chattering and squabbling. With rollicking humour: O, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Bob Doran, toppling from a small piece of green jade, I departed on the smokepalled altarstone. She hiccups, then at Stephen, Bloom for Bloom.)

BLOOM: I said …. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look ….

(The navvy, lurching heavily.) Ah!

(Mostly we held to the grand jury.) Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect. The quoits are loose.

(Takes out his head to the piano and takes out and in the seawind simply swirling.) And Molly won seven shillings on a three year old named Nevertell and coming home along by Foxrock in that old fiveseater shanderadan of a deadhand cures.

(The brake cracks violently. Rushes to the pianola.) I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too.

STEPHEN: (Heavy Gatling guns boom.) White thy fambles, red thy gan and thy quarrons dainty is. I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. What, eleven?

(He coughs encouragingly.) The skeleton, though want must be his master, for, besides our fear of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the single door which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Fabled by mothers of memory.

(Florry and Kitty. Stephen, prone, breathes to the front, holds over the table A cigarette appears on the water.)

BLOOM: Two and six. Hundred pounds. And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of this sole means of salvation.

(The ropenoose round his shaven mouth, Alice struggling with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the seawind simply swirling.) Thank you very much, gentlemen.

(His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Hynes, may I speak to you? Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk.

(In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a large, opaque body darkened the library window a composite portrait shows him gallant Nelson's image.) Let me be going now, professor, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the High School!

STEPHEN: (Turns the drumhandle.) Enfin ce sont vos oignons.

(Sniffs his hair briskly. From left upper entrance with two silent lechers. Lynch He nods. A sevenmonths' child, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake. Her hair is scant and lank. Groans He sighs.)

BLOOM: (A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, points at Lynch's cap, smiles superciliously on the stairs.) There's not sixpenceworth of damage done. Youth. Around the walls of this loot in particular that I am being made a scapegoat of. Ja, ich weiss, papachi. At your service. Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a man misunderstood.

(Smiles yellowly at the veiled mauve light, hearing the everflying moth.) Ho!

(The crone makes back for leapfrog.) Ow!

(Her sowcunt barks. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. Murmuring. Laughs emptily He taps her on the court, pointing his thumb over his shoulder, mounts the block.)

BLOOM: (The gasjet wails whistling.) A warm tingling glow without effusion.

RUDY: (Exeunt severally. Two discs on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the oddly conventionalized figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees. J.J. O'Molloy's hand and fingers He listens. In sudden sulks. Kevin Egan of Paris in black garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.)

[atypical60]

BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND. MANY HAVE WONDERED.  MANY HAVE ASKED.

HERE YOU GO!

A couple of readers are curious as to how Bonaparte and I came to be a couple and I thought it would make for a fun post so here goes! I hope you enjoy….

Joséphine de Beauharnais and Napoleon Bonaparte

Seriously Josephine. Get outta my way. The Frenchman is mine!

The story of little loud-mouthed girl from New York and baguette loving little French Parisian boy….

My divorce wreaked some havoc—especially havoc in the form of a horrific financial downfall.   My oldest son was away in Austin at University of Texas. My middle son, my daughter and I were now housed in a small apartment. I may have lost our home, but at least there was a roof overhead.

It wasn’t easy. The water and electricity were constantly being shut off—so much so that the staff at Trenton Water Authority knew me by my first name. But—they were always pleasant and I always managed to scrape up enough cash to have the water put back on. Ditto the electricity.

I’ll skip some other bad stuff that I don’t want to get into. But—after a while, it was time to get back on the social train. I was signed up for a “trial” of 30 days on “Match.com”. I had two meetings over coffee, but just figured I was better off alone. Anyway, a couple of days before my “trial” ended, I figured I would peruse through the pickin’s.

Yes. We met on Match.com!

I stopped at a picture of a man in a light blue crew-neck sweater. I could tell it was wool and not polyester—that grabbed my shallow attention. Then I noticed this gentleman’s eyes were as blue as the color of the sweater. This gentleman appeared to be very distinguished. Something I was not. In fact I was sitting at the computer in granny pants and an old, holey T-Shirt.

I then went on to read his profile. He liked art (check); New York City (check, check, check); fine food (sorta check—I was cooking for teens but I love me a great and fancy meal!) and tennis (uncheck). OK –so three out of four wasn’t bad.

I love art..especially Renoir, so it was a good thing Bonaparte had a good appreciation–I mean, he’s French afterall…..

Given the fact he loved my home town, was also a plus!

Then I noticed where he was born and raised. Paris, France.

I had heard that Parisians were the rather “difficult” of all the Frenchmen–and women!

Oh.

Now, you need to understand something—I fed into that whole “Oh-the-French-hate-Americans” thing. Yes. After 9/11 I had a propensity to refer to “French Fries” as “Freedom” fries.

Yup! I don’t necessarily like fried potatoes, but I did refer to them as “freedom” fries. These days I just call them “Frites”!

I learned every single stereotypical image about the French from cartoons and TV shows.

Yes. My educational on French stereotypes were from “great” sources…

…although sometimes Pepe Le Pew is easier to understand.

However, something inside me, perhaps it was the contrarian or the curiosity, made me write a little blurb to him. It went something like this:

“So, you like art. Impressionism? It’s my fave. I love Renoir. You like NYC? I lived there for many years!” “You got an accent?” (THAT was a dopey question)

He wrote back. We spent a bit of time writing back and forth. I finally wrote to him that my “trial” was about to expire and I gave him my email address and told him to just shoot me an email.

We emailed back and forth and he asked me for my phone number. I gave it to him. He called. He had a very heavy accent that was somewhat hard to understand. But, we kept talking.

He asked me out—that last weekend of November 2004. Actually, Thanksgiving weekend. I explained to him that I could not make it because my daughter had a regional Irish Dance competition in Philadelphia and would be busy from Thanksgiving evening through that Sunday. (Yay! Party time at the Mid-Atlantic Regional Oireachtas!) Anyone involved in Irish Dance is fully-aware that you never make plans that conflict with those Thanksgiving weekend regionals!

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Irish Dance competitions, especially the Oireachtas, takes top priority. Over EVERYTHING!!! (spoken like a true dance mom)!

He asked if I wanted to meet him the following Friday. Friday, December 3rd, 2004. I nervously agreed. It was just easier talking on the phone and emailing than having to get all dressed up, and trying to look “pretty” and worrying how I looked, and did I look too fat…yada yada yada.

We both wanted to keep things casual so we met on somewhat safe and common ground. We met at The Marketplace in Princeton. The Marketplace was a smaller mall, and in that mall were many stores I frequented! (I spent many a rainy summer day there when the kids were young). In addition, I felt comfortable there. I figured if things turned sour, I could always use some retail therapy—and spend money I didn’t have.

I spent a lot of time, and money I didn’t have at this Princeton Mall. It was a safe place for our first meeting!

It was easy to spot Monsieur Bonaparte because, luckily, he looked just like his photo. In fact, he looked very nice. Until I noticed what he was wearing on his feet. A FRENCHMAN wearing TENNIS SHOES???? Yes! I was shocked. As much as I fed into the “anti-French” propaganda, the one thing I did have in common with the French was the disgust of white tennis shoes and/or sneakers. In my most humble opinion, tennis shoes belong on the tennis court and only on the tennis court.   The sneaker thing—only a few types of sneakers get my stamp of approval. Chuck Taylors and old-school Keds. End of story.

Was Bonaparte REALLY French–or was he faux-French. What self-respecting Frenchman would wear these on a DATE????

I become physically upset when I see tourists wearing white tennis shoes/sneakers, heavy ankle sport socks and ill-fitting shorts with t-shirts—especially when I see this kind of attire in a large city. It was bad enough for me to be seen off the courts with someone wearing these hideous shoes!

Those tennis shoes had my red flag at half-mast.

My red flag was at half-mast. Uh Oh!

As Bonaparte was not familiar with the Princeton area, so we took my car and we drove down Route 1 just a bit to grab a bite to eat at The Princetonian Diner.

Best diner in the Princeton area! The burgers and “freedom” fries are delicious!

Bonaparte had his red flag at half-mast upon entering my car—which, by the way he later deemed as the messiest car he had ever been in. I don’t even it being a mess except for a few pieces of sports equipment that belonged to the kids. The car wasn’t that bad. I mean really; he actually thinks he saw papers strewn on the floor!

My oh my. Bonaparte had HIS red flag at half mast after seeing the inside of my little green Cavalier.  Now we were even!

Wait. It gets better. After having a quick bite at the diner, Bonaparte asked me if I wanted to drive across the road to check out furniture at Ethan Allen and Domain. (I thought he was moving a bit fast!). It turned out his daughter was moving into a new place and he wanted to check out furniture for her.

Imagine that! This helicopter mom met her helicopter dad!

Get rid of those red flags. Helicopter Mom has met her true match..

The French version of the Helicopter Dad!!!!

We actually had a pretty good time checking out all that furniture—it seemed that we both had pretty much similar tastes!

Surprisingly, all the sofas and loveseats in our home are white and slipcovered! Who knew?

A stop at Starbucks ended our first “date” *giggle* *giggle*

A delightful end to our first date was a stop at Starbucks!

We have been together since that first date–but there’s more so read on…

Shortly thereafter, Bonaparte administered a “test”, unbeknownst to me. The test was disguised as a movie and dinner date. He was to cook dinner for me after seeing a “surprise” movie.

When I arrived at Bonaparte’s home, he was ready to leave. (*NOTE: Bonaparte is ALWAYS on time. Worse yet, he’s early. I am always late with the exception of doctor’s appointments, air and train travel. That’s it.) I think I may have been a couple of minutes late because he was not smiling. Oh wait. He’s French!

To lighten things up, I asked him “Why do you always wear those white tennis shoes? You’re supposed to be French! I thought the French had better taste in footwear?” “They really are not attractive!” (He didn’t realize I had a “thing” about footwear).

Embarrassed, he took the fugly tennis shoes off and changed into the classy, chic, European loafers, that he should have been wearing in the first place.

He also explained “Ah em so embarrahrrrazzz.” “Ah soughs zhat Americanzzz loved zuh tennis shuz.” “Ah em zoo ‘eppy ow don’ lek zhem.” “Ow ahr lek zuh Fra’shhh. Ow spek ur meen”.

(Translation: “I thought that Americans loved the tennis shoes. I am so happy you don’t like them. You are like the French. You speak your mind.”)

Score one for me!

While on the way to see the movie, he wouldn’t budge when I asked him whatmovie we were seeing. Instead, I hounded him about dinner. He was making roast chicken, French style. He then started talking about the various courses. He explained that we were having , in his words

“Pate and Cornish hen to start” He explained in his heavy accent.

I asked him why we were having Cornish hen before having chicken.

He knew I love a good meal, but Cornish Hen as a starter?  Whoa–I’m not that much of a little piggy!

He was becoming frustrated “Cornish hen..wizz mutar!!!”

Sensing his frustration, I started to laugh and asked why he was getting so upset.

Bonaparte: “Ow no zouz gren zings zhewish pip-ul et?” From zuh bar’rel?”

(Translation: “You know those green things jewish people eat? From the barrel?”)

Me:               “Yeah. You mean pickles??”

Bonaparte: “Oui.” Cornish hen ahr leedul peekuhls”.

Thus, I found out what “cornichon” were! Years later, I still cannot understand everything he says!

This is what the “Cornish hen” was! Oops!

The movie turned out to be “A Very Long Engagement”. A World War I epic of love and the search for a loved one. It starred Audrey Tatou and Gaspar Uliel as the doomed but engaged lovers, Mathilde and Manech. I loved this film. In fact, to this day it remains one of my faves!

I outsmarted Bonaparte! He had no idea I was a fan of French cinema!

This film turned out to be the “test”. Apparently, Bonaparte was unsure of a long-term relationship if I didn’t like French film. What he didn’t realize that I had been a fan of French cinema since my early twenties. Living in Manhattan gave me the opportunity to enjoy many French films. I was especially fond of Francois Truffaut, Louis Malle, Jean Renoir and Eric Rohmer. (Also..Bonaparte’s uncle, Yves Robert! Bonus!!!)

After expressing my disgust at this ridiculous test, I scored another one for me!

I guess the French are just more pragmatic in their relationship thinking! They judge compatibility  by film and food!

We’ve had ups and downs, but mostly ups.  We have fun and enjoy each other and balance each other very well. It’s nice!

I even introduced Bonaparte to selfies!

Bonaparte wasn’t used to divey bars in NYC until he met me! Here we are waiting for my son Roman’s band “Bad Man Yells” to begin playing. My oldest son Jake is with us. This is from 2010!

In Long Island. November 2011 at a family wedding (my side)!

So that’s it. Here’s a link to an article I wrote in “FrenchEntree” about my first attempt at making a nice French dinner for Bonaparte. It started out as a complete disaster but it really is a fun read:

My Dinner for Bonaparte

To keep you in the mood..Le Temps De L’Amour from Francois Hardy! Oh lala! XOXOXOXO

Move Over Josephine! Bonaparte is Mine!!! (The Story of how a New York Girl and Parisian Man Met) BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND. MANY HAVE WONDERED.  MANY HAVE ASKED. HERE YOU GO! A couple of readers are curious as to how Bonaparte and I came to be a couple and I thought it would make for a fun post so here goes!

[proxylynn]

Undertale: (file name not found) part #65

SPOILER WARNING: IF YOU HAVEN'T PLAYED THE GAME YET, PLEASE DO! OTHERWISE THIS WILL MAKE NO SENSE OR RUIN PARTS OF THE GAME YOU HAVEN'T GOTTEN TO YET. SO PLEASE, GO PLAY IT, SERIOUSLY! ... WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE? YOU BETTER HAVE PLAYED THE GAME BY NOW. I WANT NO RESPONSIBILITY OVER SPOILING THINGS FOR OTHERS. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Since reawakening up on the surface, adjusting to this new renewed life of mine has been, well...challenging to say the least. Now normally I like a challenge, but this...Not so much. Each day I am made to get up at 6am, unless it's the weekend then I don't gotta do jack squat! Next, cleansing and grooming, because a proper lady must always look her best. Next is breakfast, followed by schooling in the basics to keep us up to date and to make sure our minds don't forget. This lasts until 10am and we move on to our appointed royal duties. This in a nut shell, is the whole family either tending to paper work or going to meetings which consist of us talking about most of the junk that was in the paper work or addressing people directly by going into town for some real insight. For several hours this type of work happens, only breaking for lunch at 1pm, and eventually ending at around 5pm. After all that there is a 30 minute rest before we're able to attend our own personal activities. I can't really complain about the time frame for my lessons with Gaster, it's at a point when he's off the clock and able to give me his full attention, though his brothers still seem to be cautious when it comes to us being together alone. I suppose they worry that Gaster might revert to his old ways and experiment on me, but I haven't really peaked his interest after studying my soul in my latest physical. I can still switch between traits like I tend to do, but Anomaly State seems to be lost for good. On the bright side, my magic abilities have improved greatly thanks to his teachings and those of his parents who I must say are the absolute nicest people I am ever so grateful to know. I figure I've gotten good enough to handle trying to make Gaster Blasters, but Gaster doesn't think I'm ready, so I plan to prove him wrong over time, no need to rush and turn him off to the idea. Dinner happens at about 6 or 7pm depending on things and then it's bed time at 9pm or 10 pm at the latest to insure a quality 8 hour sleep. All this happens while under the watchful guard of the two boy I hold dear and that causes its own chaos of sorts. While on the clock, Papyrus takes his job seriously and wears his armor with pride, not even his feelings distract him from his mission, though they do sometimes make it a little hard for him to concentrate. Sans on the other hand takes a more inconspicuous approach to his job, he wears similar armor to Papyrus, but not as much and hides it under his casual clothing so he seems less suspecting if something is indeed up, but unlike Papyrus, Sans has no qualms with expressing himself with me while working unless in public or while in political meetings because that's when my parents are there. But lately a new aspect has entered the fray and added to the current difficulty level. It's almost Christmas. Surprisingly not much about the holiday is different than what I knew from the past. It's still a celebration regarding the birth of a religious figure, but it's more about coming together to share in the appreciation of life and not something shoved down our throats with commercialism, though Santa is still a thing yet he's more a Christmas-eve thing and not the main holiday person. Still, gifts are exchanged with loved ones and with all the runaround lately shopping hasn't been an easy thing to. I've had to miss lunch and bargain with Gaster just to get some time to sneak off to get things without others seeing. So far, I've only managed to get gifts for Asgore, Toriel, Asriel, Chara, Alphys, Undyne, and Mettaton, Napstablook...They surprisingly were the easy ones. That just left Grillby, Gaster, Sans, Papyrus, Semi, and Calibri & Lucida...The main hard ones. Thank god for the weekend, I need this time to really think things through on what to get. But as a rule, the Princess is not to go out without company, unless I sneak away that is. Yet since I'm shopping for my normal escorts, my brothers have to step in for them, no one messes with the royal trio when we hit the streets! On a bonus note, we don't have to look royal while out and about, which is great, 'cause I'm not big on wearing dresses out in public. Though it is pretty cool to see Chara and Asriel in regular clothes. Flannel shirt and jeans for Asriel. Long sleeved shirt under short sleeved shirt and cargo pants for Chara. Me, I can't beat the classic t-shirt and camo pants. "You think we can find good gifts here?" "It's the MTT Mega Mall. If we can't find something here, then we can't find it anywhere." "I'm surprised you aren't going to make your gifts." "I have made some. But for once in my life I have a ton of cash. If I want to spoil you lot, I'm gonna spoil you like never before!" I pose dramaticly. "Lynn, people can see you." "So?" "You look stupid when you do that." "I don't care. I died to make this world a better place, I will act like a fool if I want because damn it, it makes me happy." Asriel chuckles and Chara pulls me into a headlock for nuggies. "Come on. Let's get this over with." "How long are doing this for?" "For as long as we need." "Who are you shopping for?" "Pretty much the entire Skeleton family and Grillby. I got everyone else already." "Damn...I was hoping to sneak a peek at what you got me." "Focus bros, don't you both still need to get gifts yourselves?" Asriel blinks then charges into the mall. "God of Hyper-shopping away!" I can't help but laugh and Chara smirks. "You're so rubbing off on him." "Is that really a bad thing?" "So long as we don't catch him wearing your bras, I think it's fine." "...Dude...Never say that again. No one needs to picture that. EVER." Chara just laughs at me as we follow after our nutty brother. It doesn't take long to track Asriel down and together again we begin to hunt down our gift prey. They help me when it comes to getting the gifts for the bone family and I help with their gifts to our parents. But when it comes down to the last on our lists, we split up and agree to meet up again at the entrance. Last on my list is Grillby...Not really sure how to go about on this one. Though I've been trying to connect with Grillby more, I still don't know much about him. Think Lynn, think! What can I get a fire elemental that owns his own business and is still so freaking hot! ... I really need help sometimes. I end up waking around and looking at every outlet I see, feeling crappy with each disappointing object that fails to click with me that I'd think he'd like. Some things I thought were good, but fuck no to those outrageous prices. I may have coin, but there's a limit...Plus I don't want to over do it. If I pay too much for one person, then the others will feel bad like I don't care enough, everyone is limited to 100g. But damn it...Why is this one so freaking hard?! Okay, calm down, clear your mind...Let the gift find you. So I backtrack to all the places I've been, looking over things again but without worry. And it isn't till I return to the Discovery Channel store, there I spy a few things that I believe will click together nicely. "Oh yes. This will do nicely." I can't help the wicked giggles that leave me, earning a couple odd looks my way, but I pay no mind as gleefully pay for my things. With my many bags clutched tightly in my straining hands, I head for the fountain at the center of the mall, yeah, even up here, Mettaton had to remake himself as a fountain for all to see, it doubles as a wishing fountain because 'through the power of my fabulous stardom, anything is possible'. He's so full of himself...That loveable goofball ghost. It is here that we three choose to meet up once we were done shopping. Yet I find only myself to be here, so it seems I must wait for Asriel and Chara. Time seems to slowly pass. Faces come and go. But my brothers are still a no show. I should've seen this coming. Asriel and Chara are probably being hounded by people that are gaa-gaa for their looks. Sure, my bros are good looking. But damn, you'd think they were rock stars with the amount of groupies that trail behind them. Some looks have come my way, from humans and monsters alike, but my heart has a home and no amount of attention will sway it from its mount. "Excuse me..." A rather smooth voice hits my ears but I pay it no mind, it's not a voice I know. "Are you, Princess Dreemurr?" Crap. I look over my shoulder and to my left is a rather pleasant human gentleman sitting just a bit away from me. A bad feeling makes my stomach churn. "You are her, aren't you?" "I'm afraid you are mistaken sir." "Are you sure? Because you look very much so like her on that TV over there." He points and damn it all, it's rerun of the holiday commercial Mettaton shot with my family wishing everyone good cheer...God that sweater I'm wearing looks tacky. "So, you sure that isn't you?" His smug smile makes me want to punch him in the face. "Fine, you got me. It's me." His smile grows. "I knew it. I can spot a lovely lady from miles away." "If that's your superpower, I'd ask for a refund." He just chuckles and scoots closer to me, I don't like it. "So, Princess...Doing some shopping I see." Oh my god this guy is so lame! "Good news, your eyes work." "Hey now...Why so cross? I haven't done anything wrong." "Look buddy, I'm gonna be blunt and get to the point. Be like Mario and move on to the next level, because I'm sorry, but your princess is in another castle." I can't help my nerdiness and sadly it takes all seriousness away from me, as he finds this hysterical. "Oh my god! *laughs* That was the cutest thing I've ever heard!" God damn it, stop liking me! I give up talking and get up to leave. "Hahah...Hey wait! Where are you going?" "Away." "Come on. I'm not a bad guy when you get yo know me." Do I have to put up a sign?! "I have a boyfriend, so can you please stop." I hope that the truth will make him stop, but as with everything else I say, he sees a way around it. "Oh a thousand pardons. Do tell...Where is this lucky person that has won your hand?" You son of a bitch! "He's meeting me here. So please leave me be before you end up regretting this." "Huh. Sounds like a violent guy. A Princess like you deserves better." "For the love of god...!" I am not one to make a scene, I leave that to the experts like Mettaton and Undyne, but this guy... "Take the hint already. I am NOT interested! I am in a relationship! So back off before I...!" "Before you do what, you self entitled bitch!" ...Mother fucker, what did you just call me?! "Heh...Excuse you?" "You heard me. You think just because your the fake daughter to the King, it means you can treat the common guy like dirt. Well guess what! You are nothing but a...a..." I can't see the look on my face, but judging by the one on his, I must be very frightening. "Buddy...If you keep talking like that, let's just say...You're gonna have a bad time." Whoa...Where did that come from...I thought that type of darkness died with the demon? I shake my head clear from this anger and he moves to take advantage, aiming to either push or grab me I know not which, but then... "Shoryuken!" The guy gets his block knocked off and lands in the fountain with a resounding splash. "Creeps like you give humans a bad name! Now get lost!" The guy glares but leaves with his metaphorical tail between his legs when others begin to crowd around. "You okay Lynsie?" Reality returns to me when the shock fade and I'm staring at a girl in a striped sweater. Then it hits me. "Frisk?" She beams a smile and gives me a thumbs up. "The one and only." Oh shit... [You feel karma is going to bite your butt.] "Uh..." She just laughs. "Geez, relax. You so nervous you look like you might fart." I blush with a sigh into a more chill mood. "To be fair, dealing with creeps and then running into someone who was less than happy the last time we met...Yeah...I'm a wee bit nervous, kid." "Yeah...That...I'm sorry about that." And just like that hell has frozen solid. "You're sorry?" "She rubs the back of her head. "I am. Not just for that whole 'I'm going to SAVE over you so I can keep playing' thing. I mean...I'm sorry for all the bad stuff I did." I want to be smug about this, I feel like I should rub it in her face, but that isn't right, it's not who I am. "Frisk...I'm sorry too." That took her by surprise. "Why are you sorry? You stopped me from hurting myself and others. I mean, look at all this! You did this. What's to be sorry for?" "Well...I'm sorry that I was, uh...I was a bitch to be honest." She nearly bursts into laughter. "You were not a bitch." "Oh I was so a bitch. I was such a bitch I was close to C-word level douchebagery. Asriel made it clear to me in our fight. Why did I try so hard to save him and Chara, yet when it came to you, I was more harsh? It's been eating at me for some time. But I think...I think I was taking my own anger out on you. I understood you had a condition, but everything else...Everything I was told...My disgust with humanity back then...It all was seething in the depths of my soul and I ended up making you the one to blame. For that...Can you ever forgive me?" She gives me my answer in the form of hugging me around my waist and all I can do is smile. "How about we do this...Let's RESET ourselves. Like this is our first time meeting." "Hmmm...Sounds like a plan." She lets go and bows. "Please to meet you. My name is Frisk." "Heh, very cute. Howdy. I'm Lynsie. It's nice to meet you, Frisk." She attempts to shake my hand, but as they are full, it just makes for a awkward goof. "So...Did you really use the 'Rising Dragon Fist' on that jerk?" "Heck yeah! It's what Deadpool would do. He's awesome. He reminds me of Sans sometimes. Only he's more about chimichangas and less about ketchup." ...I think I want to keep her. "You and me are going to get along epically." She blushes and I snicker. "Hey sis!" From behind me, Asriel and Chara approach, becoming very surprised by who they see with me. "Uh..." "Everything okay here?" We just smile. "Yeah, everything is fine. Frisk here just beat a creep that was being a ass to me...Uh...I probably should stop swearing so much in public and in front of children." They stopped listening after hearing about someone being bad to their little sister. Asriel nearly bursts into flames and Chara brings out his butterfly knife like some punk from the 50's. It took some time to calm them down. Though for fun, I give them a slight description of the guy and secretly hope we run into that schmuck on the way out. Lucky for the schmuck, he's gone by the time we leave, bringing Frisk along with us so she doesn't have to take the bus home. I sort of regret bringing her when she comments on how Chara has a driver's license, but Asriel and I don't, something Chara likes to rub our noses in whenever he can...Like jerk. It's not our fault we don't have one, we're too busy to bother with it, Asriel is always swimming in studies and trying to make space in my schedule is hard enough already, just making time for this shopping cost me big time in my magic studies with Gaster. We drop Frisk off at her home, boy, nothing makes things funny and awkward then taking a kid home only to have their parents wig out because their kid is with royalty...That was a hoot and a half. ... The fuck does that even mean?! God I'm getting old. Back at home, the boys tend to their business and I my own, wrapping gifts was never my strong suit, but when that's out of the way, I can get to the real fun...Making Grillby's gift. [About less than a week later.] 'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the castle. Not a monster was stirring, but one human who is sometimes a hassle. Sleep was not her friend this eve, so she went to make sure of some last minute things. The stockings were hung by the chimney with care, in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there. The tree set aglow with lights and garland, and the family made ornaments that hung are so darling. Her family was nestled all snug in their beds; while visions of sugar-plums or something else danced in their heads. Mamma Toriel in her 'kerchief, and papa Asgore in his cap, most likely had just settled down for a long winter's nap. She sorted the gifts from whom to who, what else was someone with OCD to do? 'It would make things easier' was the thought in her head, unaware someone else was also out of bed. When out in the hall there arose such a clatter, she sprang from her work to see what was the matter. Away to the hall she flew like a flash, flinging open the doors and trying not to laugh. The moonlight coming in the frosty window, gave a luster of midday shine to the scene that she did lo. When what to her wondering eyes did appear, but Asgore dressed in full Santa gear. He was dressed all in fur from his head to his feet, and his clothes were all pressed to look oh so neat. A bundle of goodies he had dropped off his back, he looked like a peddler just about to open his pack. His eyes how they twinkled, swelling to be watery, his tongue seemed bitten, and his nose ever furry. His droll mouth was drawn up like a tight bow, and the golden beard on his chin was made to look as white as the snow. The fluffy hat that donned his head like his crown, now on the floor as if it jumped with a bound. He had a broad face and a little round belly, it shook when he winced like a bowl full of swirled up jelly. He was slightly chubby and plump, a normally jolly old soul, and she laughed when she saw him, in spite of herself. A tear in his eye and a twist of his head, soon made her silent not knowing if there's something to dread. With a little nervous laugh so lively and quick, she knew in a moment she would be in deep shit. More rapid than eagles his curses they came, and he whimper, and hissed, and rubbed his knee in pain. The King of Monsters had slipped quite foolishly, a old rug was the culprit as it was turned over loosely. To her father's aid she went, being his crutch as he was lead to his throne and sat down as if spent. "Santa, why are you up?" Was her question..."Why, to deliver presents of course." Is all he did mention. Clearly these two were doofs, like father like daughter, they were complete goofs. Yet Asgore's ruckus would not go unheard, Asriel and Chara awoke to follow without saying a word. So the sons soon joined the pair, a daughter at work and father in chair. Helped her they did handling the gifts with care, all while Santa Asgore watched in kind air. The milk and cookies left out for old man Claus were now gone, shared amongst them in the ever approaching dawn. Long into the night they were like elves, making sure all was perfect, like books upon shelves. With a yawn the King drew in his kids, the sandman finally working his magic and dusting their lids. They spoke not a word but went straight to his side, father and children, at the thrones they did lie. And laying there in slumber four Dreemurrs did sleep, but there in the entrance a smiling mother made not a peep. She sprang to her loved ones as a doting mother does, taking each one back to bed just because. Her task done and all now tucked into bed just right, Queen and mother Toriel whispered softly into her dreams..."Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night." [Christmas morning.] Slowly I stir from what little sleep I had, amazed Papyrus hadn't kicked in my door by now till I remember it's Sunday, and he's kind enough to let me rest longer on weekends. Crawling to the edge of the bed, I stretch out and yawn, my back letting out a couple of loud snaps to welcome my ears to my eventual pain later on in life. "geez sweetheart...it's a wonder how you aren't slumped over in pain all the time." ...Did I just hear what I thought I just heard? Turning my head, I spy over my shoulder a very confusing sight. Sans is all too comfortable laying on my bed with a playful grin, under the covers and topless...dear lord you better not be naked under there. "what's the matter sweetheart? not happy to see me?" I blush and bite my tongue to hold back building giggles. "Really stepping up your game, huh punny bones? I know Papy said to put more backbone into your work, but I don't think he quite meant this." "gotta have some fun every now and then. but seeing you sleep so peacefully...you made the bed look so inviting. i couldn't help myself." "Heh...You continue to surprise me, Sans. You were so cautious in the Underground. Nervous about what Toriel would see. But up here, where she's even closer to us...You've gotten more daring sir." He chuckles. "so you've noticed." "Hard not to notice the adorable bundle of bare bones in my bed." He blushes and I get up, secretly thankful I did not sleep in the nightie Mettaton got me for my birthday...Boy mom and dad were pissed! "So...You nude under there or what?" The calmness of that question rattled him. "sweetheart, i'm bold...but not that bold." He flips the covers off to show he's in his shorts. "not that i have much to hide anyway." "Oh don't be so modest. That pelvic bone of yours doesn't leave much to the imagination." He's quick to bring those sheets back over him much to my amusement as I gather my preset out outfit for the day. "My hips don't lie, so to be honest, that was cute." I hear him shift his way out of the bed. "seems i'm not the only one that got bold in this time line." "I try. Have to keep up with you of course. *sigh* And here I thought the sweaters would be a bit more tasteful." Seems tacky holiday sweaters are immune to time line alterations. It's eye catching bright white with red randomly placed snowflakes all over, green trims the cuffs and collar, but the really lame part is what is written on it...Meet me under the mistletoe, a image of mistletoe above the wording. "wow." "Wait for it..." I press a spot on the cuff and the whole thing lights up. "oh my god...*snickering* you are so boned." "This is a prime example why you never let your former demon of a brother go with your mom to do clothes shopping. Because this stuff happens!" "well, that's a bummer for you. luckily, my bro doesn't stick me with such naughty things." "You can say that again. Is this implying others to get under the sweater with me? Better than the male version I suppose, but not by much." "why? what's the guy version?" "See the mistletoe is on the chest here?" "yeah?" "On the guy version, it's a lot closer to the south pole. If you catch my drift." The face he makes when he puts the picture together in his head is priceless, I want to say something naughty in a pun way but I can't think of anything...Especially not when I get to watch him redress. I am so getting coal for this. Wait...How long was he in here with me? "Sans...How long have you..." "SANS!" And right on cue, my door is kicked in by the great Papyrus. "SANS YOU LAZY BONES! YOU WERE SENT HERE OVER A HOUR AGO! WHAT'S TAKING YOU SO LONG?" Papyrus then notices me. "OH. GOOD MORNING PRINCESS. I HOPE YOUR SLEEP WAS PLEASANT." Oh Papy, how cute you are when you jump from reprimanding to sweetness like that. "I slept quite nicely dear. But when you dream of the great Papyrus, there is no better rest than that." And the blush you get from my sweetness is enough to warm my heart all year long. "sorry bro. would've been back sooner, but lynn and i were just caught up in such a nice chat." You sneaky devil, you came in and got cozy instead of waking me up...well played Sans. "OH? WHAT ABOUT?" I hold up my sweater and his face contorts trying not to laugh. "BE THAT AS IT MAY, SANS WAS SUPPOSE TO INFORM YOU THAT EVERYONE IS GATHERED IN THRONE ROOM AND READY TO BEGIN THE FESTIVITIES." "Ah. Then I better don this now very gay apparel and jingle all the way the merry way there." Sans can't help but laugh and Papyrus groans in a endearing yet bugged way. "COME ALONG BROTHER. WE MUST LET HER DRESS." "sure thing. see you in a bit sweetheart." With a wave of the hand the boys take leave of my room and I am able to dress seasonally for what will most likely be a very weird yet very entertaining Christmas day. They escort me to the throne room, which is a hustle and bustle of good cheer. And much to my amusement, seems ridiculous sweaters have been a major theme. Toriel is handing them out like pie to anyone not wearing one. She's wearing a rather tame one, it's a classic red with white snowflakes and reads 'Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas!'. This get even more funny when she gives one to Sans and Papyrus. Sans's is black and reads in white 'On the Naughty List' while Papyrus's is white and reads in black 'On the Nice List'...I get the feeling she picked those personally. She always did like Papyrus more than Sans, after all, she never caught Papyrus on top of me in the snow. "you've got to be joking." "DON'T BE SUCH A HUMBUG SANS. I THINK WE LOOK GREAT." "You both are cute as heck. Now let's not care about these silly things. It's Christmas day! Let's be merry and bright till we can't stand it to the point we want to leap out windows." Papyrus looks away recalling times he's done that and Sans snickers. "Yoohoo...Lynsie, darling~." Mettaton from across the way waves me over, his silly sweater has lug nut snowflakes on it and reads 'Jingle Bolts'...Dear god, the adorableness is going to overwhelm me if this is how they all are. "Time to mingle boys. Let's get our yuletide on and party!" I head off to Mettaton and Sans attempts to follow, but Papyrus is quick to pull him away before something happens. "Metta! How is my shinning star today?" "Much better now that you're here. 'Meet me under the mistletoe'? Well tradition is tradition~..." "Sweater pictures don't count. You want a kiss, find the real plant and maybe luck will be on your side." I wink playful, just to tease like we used to, I end up feeling regret when oil leaks out his nose. "Metta? You okay?" He grabs my shoulders and grins. "Stay right here. I'll be back before you can say 'show time'." He takes off in a mistletoe hunt and I can't help the snickering that leaves me. "Well he took off in a big hurry. Everything okay?" Napstablook seems to be adapting well to his robot body, he's got this new vibe of confidence, it's faint but there...His sweater has music notes and reads 'Disc the Halls'. "Him? He's off to look for mistletoe to get a kiss. Classic Metta." "Yeah. But that's just how he is about you. It's been kind of funny really." "How so?" "He's been jealous that I got to kiss you. It's actually rather cool to have that over him." "Bet that's been fun." "I've actually made it into a song. N-not one I put out for sale or something like that! I-i mean...It's personal. You know what I mean?" That touches my heart. "You...You made a song about us?" Robo-blush...nothing tops that level cute, especially when it's from him. "Uh...Y-yeah?" "Oh Blooky-boo!" I glomp him much to his surprise and his blush only grows brighter when I give his cheek a big kiss. "You are so adorable!" "Ah geez...Not in front of everyone." "Fair enough Blooky. But you owe me one." "W-what?!" "I want a copy of that personal music you made. And I won't take no for a answer." Though the smile I have says 'you don't really have to if you don't want to' and he messes my hair up. "Only if you sing for me Princess." He tries a confident almost flirty tone, but I can't buy it and snicker much to his embarrassment. "Lynsie..." "I'm sorry. But that was too cute." He sighs into a smile hugs me around the neck, giving my cheek a nuzzle before backing off quickly. Now why would he... "Lynsie!" The tackle I get from big brother Asriel explains that one. "What took you so long? Were you and Sans making out~." "Grow up goat boy." "Nice come back shorty." "Hey! I beat YOU in the final battle." "I let you win." "That's bull and you now it." "Is not." "Is too. You know you love me too much to really kill me...a third time anyway." "Why kill you when mom can make you wear such a assaulting sweater?" "Like yours is any better?" Asriel is wearing a blue with white snowflakes sweater that reads 'X-mas Angel' on it, it also has the Delta Rune on it as the angel. "At least it's not inviting others to grope my mouth." "Fair enough. Hey, look. You finally won a fight with me." He bleats angrily and by the time he realizes it, I'm on the floor laughing my ass off. "It's not funny!" "Then why am I laughing so much?!" "Will you two cut it out? If anyone is going to pick on someone, it's going to be me." Chara strolls on over, red sweater reading 'Santa's Little Helper', though it's clear to some that it should be more like Satan most days. "Sup, bro?" "Don't you 'sup' me, sister! Because of you, we've been waiting to open presents. What was taking you so long?" This type of conversation seems very familiar. "Me? I was just staring at a lamp. It really brightens the place up. Do you wanna go take a look?" He opens his mouth to scold me till realization stops him and he glares daggers at me. "That...Is not funny." "whoo! proud of you sweetheart!" "Seems the audience disagrees with you there bro." "That's because you're boning them, sis." Now I'm the one glaring, it makes him smirk. "Awww...Did I hit your funny bone wrong?" Asriel as the voice of reason, attempts to prevent a fight. "Hey, come on. We're family. Family doesn't fight family." We just continue our little stare down, tension mounting like a thunderstorm ready to strike. "Hey Chara." "What?" "Chicken butt." He snickers and the tension storm is gone just like that much to Asriel's relief. "You're such a dork." "Yeah. And very proud." "Come on...Let's get to the good part of this holiday and see what we got." "Yeah!" "Heh, boys and their toys." My brother dash off and I just look at poor Blooky who's been standing there the entire time trying to make himself invisible with sheer will. "You okay sweety?" "That...Was scary." "I'm sorry dear. But we never get farther than that. Just classic sibling jostling." "If you say so." He's still tense, so I do what I always do for my best bud Blooky-boo, I make things better. I slip my hand to hold his and he looks at me with a blush. "Lynsie?" "I've missed you Blooky-boo. I miss being there to cheer you up and see you smile." His blush increases and I give him a soft smile. "Um...Lynsie?" "Yeah?" "Can you, uh, close your eyes for a moment?" Awww...Probably wants to give me his gift away from the others so no one bugs him about it. "Sure sweety." I close my eyes and wait for what I think is him getting something, but what I don't see is him grasping for every once of courage he has to lean in for a kiss...Just like the one we shared so long ago. Yet just as he's about make contact, only managing to touch his nose to mine, Mettaton comes bonding back and yanks Napstablook away to take his place, having found mistletoe which he has mounted to dangle over his head, he proceeds to steal Blooky's kiss much to my shock. "M-mettaton!?" "Mmmm...Sorry cousin. But I've been waiting to do that longer than anyone knows." Blooky looks at me. "Go for it sweety." Mettaton is confused till Napstablook starts batting at him in a flustered 'how could you' way, forcing Mettaton to flee while Blooky gives chase. Silly boys...But how I love them so. I wander my way around the room, taking note of where others are. Toriel and Asgore are nose nuzzling, much to Gerson's displeasure. Asgore has a cute sweater that reads 'North Pole's Most Wanted' and a picture of a Rudolf mugshot with glowing red nose sets it up for fun. Gerson's is a tad ironic, a pear tree with two real turtle-doves nesting on top in the snow...very cute. Undyne and Alphys are sharing pleasantries over some eggnog. Undyne's sweater is funny, it's sea foam green and has angelfish on it while reading 'Merry Fishmas'. Alphys has more anime-ish one, it's pink and reads 'All I Want For Christmas Is Otaku'...I think it has a double meaning and can be a pun. But where is... [BEEP-BEEP] A text? "Merry Christmas Lynsie." I smile and reply. "Merry Christmas Grillby." A tap to my shoulder has me spin around to meet him properly. "Good to see you hot stuff. Doing well?" He nods. Grillby too in not immune to the sweater craziness, his is rather tame but funny because he is fire, it reads 'I'm Cool With Coal'. "Mama got you too? Or is this all you?" He points to himself. "Awww...Now that's cute. You're sense of humor is the same as your personality...Perfectly warm." The tell tale hint of butane blue burns his cheeks making him all the more sweet. "So...You have a day off coming up after the holidays? I still owe you that promise." He nods and texts. [BEEP-BEEP] "Is January seventh good for you?" "Let me check real quick." I scroll through my phone's date planner. "And...Good news. That's a Saturday, and I'm off on weekends. What time can I come over?" [BEEP-BEEP] "How's about 10 or 11am sound?" "Sounds like a plan my man. Oh! I, um...Heh...I made you a gift. It's sorta personal, so, I'm not sure if you'd be big on the whole opening it in front of others thing." He tilts his head slightly and texts. [BEEP-BEEP] "You really made me something?" I rub the back of my head sheepishly. "Kinda had no choice but to make one. As much as I like you, I simply don't know you well enough to pick stuff out and be all 'oh I know he will like that' you know. So I...I made something I hope you'll care for." His blush burns a tad brighter, even more so when I take him by the hand and lead him over to the tree, once there, I nervously offer him the box, earning me a lighthearted smile from the fire elemental as he sets the box a flame safely to reveal the contents within. On a glass palette as wide as both hands stretched open, is a menagerie of crystals, one large orange centers the piece while surrounded by slightly smaller ones in all different colors, but inside the big one is some dark illegible marks that has his already wide eyes searching for what it can be and knowing what comes next has me blushing like a fool. "It didn't take long to grow them. They're mainly normal crystals. But I did do something special with the kind of crystals that might bring back some memories." I barely give the big one a tap and the whole thing is set a glow, those dark illegible marks now read clearly a message I know he's longed to hear...'TO ME, YOU ARE SPECIAL, GRILLBY'. His eyes glisten as they water, turning to steam with a sizzle the moment the liquid escapes to touch his fiery flesh, I begin to get concerned by this when his lips begin to quiver and he sets the gift down off to the side. "Grillby? Are you alright? I didn't mean to..." I'm cut off by his sudden embrace, so warm and strong with feeling, his face pressed against mine with his mouth close to my ear, he tries to speak, but his words sound smothered by how touched he was, I return his hold as I rub his back in comfort. "It's okay. You don't have to say anything. I understand what you mean." He trembles lightly. "Grillby?" "...Thank you...So much...Lynsie." I can feel my heart stop before swelling with so much love that it begins pouring out my eyes, and as much as I hate to cry or show such emotion in public, I could care less at who sees, I gave him love, that's all that matters to me. The looks that this display gets are more of the worried variety then amused as we stay like this for quite some time, but eventually the tears stop and we've calmed down enough that we know it's time to let go, yet not before I say something I only want him to hear. "Grillby...I love you." I feel his cheeks heat up but he gets me back with a kiss to my cheek and we pull apart all smiles. "✋☞ ✡⚐🕆 ❄🕈⚐ ✌☼☜ 👎⚐☠☜ 🕈✋❄☟ ❄☟✋💧 ☹✋❄❄☹☜ 💧☟⚐🕈📪 🕈☜ 👍✌☠ ☝☜❄ ❄☟☜💧☜ ☞☜💧❄✋✞✋❄✋☜💧 ⚐✞☜☼ ✌☠👎 👎⚐☠☜ 🕈✋❄☟📬" (IF YOU TWO ARE DONE WITH THIS LITTLE SHOW, WE CAN GET THESE FESTIVITIES OVER AND DONE WITH.) Seems like Gaster is the Grinch of the party, even his green sweater displays his real feelings about the holiday, atoms for snowflakes, a tree made from the periodic table of elements, chemical beakers are among presents, and it reads 'OH CHEMISTREE, OH CHEMISTREE!'. "Oh come on G. Aren't you even the tiniest bit festive?" He rolls his eyes with a sigh. "✋ 🕈⚐🕆☹👎 🏱☼☜☞☜☼ ❄⚐ 👌☜ 🕈⚐☼😐✋☠☝📪 ❄☟✌❄ 💣🕆👍☟ ✋💧 ❄☼🕆☜📬 👌🕆❄📬📬📬✋❄ ✋💧 ☠⚐❄ 👌☜☠☜✌❄☟ 💣☜ ❄⚐ ❄✌😐☜ 🏱✌☼❄ ✋☠ ☞✌💣✋☹✡ ☜✞☜☠❄💧📬" (I WOULD PREFER TO BE WORKING, THAT MUCH IS TRUE. BUT...IT IS NOT BENEATH ME TO TAKE PART IN FAMILY EVENTS.) "Oh? Will the rest of the family be joining us today?" "☠⚐📬 🕈☟✋☹☜ ❄☟☜✡ 💧☜☠👎 ❄☟☜✋☼ 🕈✋💧☟☜💧📪 ⚐🕆☼ 🏱✌☼☜☠❄💧 👍✌☠🕯❄ ✌❄❄☜☠👎 ☟☜☼☜📬 💧☜💣✋🕯💧 ☟☜✌☹❄☟ ☟✌💧 👌☜☜☠ 👍⚐☠👍☜☼☠✋☠☝ ✌💧 ⚐☞ ☹✌❄☜📬 ☠⚐❄☟✋☠☝ 💣✌☺⚐☼📪 ✌ 👍⚐☹👎 ✌❄ 👌☜💧❄📬 ☠⚐❄ ☹✋😐☜ ❄☟✋💧 🕈☜✌❄☟☜☼ ✋💧 ☟☜☹🏱☞🕆☹ ✋☠ 💧🕆👍☟ ❄☟✋☠☝💧📬" (NO. WHILE THEY SEND THEIR WISHES, OUR PARENTS CAN'T ATTEND HERE. SEMI'S HEALTH HAS BEEN CONCERNING AS OF LATE. NOTHING MAJOR, A COLD AT BEST. NOT LIKE THIS WEATHER IS HELPFUL IN SUCH THINGS.) "Oh no, not Grandpa Semi. Well, I know he's tough old soul. He can beat this like how he almost beat me." He chuckles at that. "❄☟✌❄ ☼☜💣✋☠👎💧 💣☜📬📬📬☟☜ 🕈✌☠❄☜👎 ❄⚐ 😐☠⚐🕈 ✋☞ ✌☠👎 ✋ ✈🕆⚐❄☜ 🕯🕈✋☹☹ ❄☟☜ ☞🕆❄🕆☼☜ 💣⚐❄☟☜☼ ⚐☞ 💣✡ ☝☼✌☠👎😐✋👎💧 👌☜ 💧❄⚐🏱🏱✋☠☝ 👌✡ 💧⚐💣☜❄✋💣☜ 💧⚐⚐☠✍🕯 ☜☠👎 ✈🕆⚐❄☜📬" (THAT REMINDS ME...HE WANTED TO KNOW IF AND I QUOTE 'WILL THE FUTURE MOTHER OF MY GRANDKIDS BE STOPPING BY SOMETIME SOON?' END QUOTE.) My jaw drops and I hear sputtering plus a crash across the room, Sans had spat out his drink while Papyrus had lost his footing upon barely hearing that...though it pales in comparison to the glaring Toriel and Asgore are doing now. "Dear god Semi...Yes, I'll come over. But really? He's still on about that?" "✋☞ ✡⚐🕆 ❄☟✋☠😐 ❄☟✌❄🕯💧 👌✌👎📪 ✋ ☹✋✞☜ 🕈✋❄☟ ❄☟☜ 💣✌☠📬 ✋ 💧🕈☜✌☼📪 ❄☟☜ ❄☟✋☠☝💧 ☟☜ 💧✌✡💧📬 🕈☟✌❄ ☟☜ ✋☠💧✋☠🕆✌❄☜💧📬 ⚐☞ ✌☹☹ ❄☟☜ 🕈✋☹👎 ✌☠👎 🏱☼☜🏱⚐💧❄☜☼⚐🕆💧 ✋👎☜✌💧📬" (IF YOU THINK THAT'S BAD, I LIVE WITH THE MAN. I SWEAR, THE THINGS HE SAYS. WHAT HE INSINUATES. OF ALL THE WILD AND PREPOSTEROUS IDEAS.) Oh my god Semi, what are you thinking? "Why do I get the feeling he's trying to push you at me too?" The silence and blush that befalls Gaster only makes me crack a weird smile. "Wow Semi...Just wow." "☹☜❄🕯💧 ☠⚐❄ ❄✌☹😐 ✌☠✡💣⚐☼☜ ✌👌⚐🕆❄ ❄☟✋💧 💧🕆👌☺☜👍❄📬" (LET'S NOT TALK ANYMORE ABOUT THIS SUBJECT.) "Agreed. Because at this point Toriel and Asgore might go nuts. So...Hey everyone! Let's open some presents already!" With that, the mood of the room goes from a slightly tense to 'yay presents' stampede, as everyone flocks to the tree for gifts galore. Bows, wrapping paper, and packing tissue fly through the air, littering the floor like a bunch of kids were let loose. Each gift opened is more touching than the last, even the ones from those that you don't expect good stuff from, not naming names, but a fun surprise is still fun, though a odd surprise was when I looked around and did not see a gift from the brothers for me even though they got some for the others. I'm not hurt...Just...It's unexpected. I'm tempted to ask them till I notice they've vanished from the group along with Mettaton and Napstablook. The heck is going on? "Psst! Darling!" The hell? Mettaton is waving me over and at this point I sneak away to him in hope of some answers. "Metta, what is...?" "Shhh! It's a surprise darling. No spoilers here." Okay sir dramatic, you have my interest. "Very well dear. Lead the way." He holds my hand and begins taking me through the castle, leading us down hallways for seemingly no reason, as if to make sure we not being followed, but what could be so secret that he has to do this? "Metta?" "Just a little more dear. Oh! and do close your eyes. You don't want to ruin it do you?" I giggle and do as he says, listening as our steps go from clacking on the stone floor to softly crunching in what I think is the grass of the courtyard, now I am very intrigued. He eventually makes me stop and has me sit down on what I hope is chair because Toriel will be ticked off if I got a stain on my clothes. "Now wait here and don't open those pretty eyes." "But when should I open them?" "Oh you'll know~." I hear him walk away and I feel like a kid waiting to be picked up from school...alone and awkward. Then something hits my ears, soft feedback that then fixes into building music. Hold on...I know this song. I open my eyes and there stands Papyrus, he's clearly nervous but he can't back down now, not when I'm looking at him, yet with a quick shaky gulp he swallows his fear before opening his mouth. "♪I DON'T WANT A LOT FOR CHRISTMAS. THERE IS JUST ONE THING I NEED. I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE PRESENTS, UNDERNEATH THE CHRISTMAS TREE. I JUST WANT YOU FOR MY OWN. MORE THAN YOU COULD EVER KNOW. MAKE MY WISH COME TRUE...OH! ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS...IS...YOU. YEAH!♫" He's singing...He's singing to me...Oh my god, that's so...Wait a second... Sans comes strolling out from behind me and joins his brother in front of me to sing along as the beat picks up. "♪i don't want a lot for christmas. there is just one thing i need...♫" "♪AND I DON'T CARE ABOUT THE PRESENTS, UNDERNEATH THE CHRISTMAS TREE. I DON'T NEED TO HANG MY STOCKING, THERE UPON THE FIREPLACE.♫" "♪santa claus won't make me happy with a toy on christmas day.♫" "♪I JUST WANT YOU FOR MY OWN. more than you could ever know. MAKE MY WISH COME TRUE. all i want for christmas is you...OOOH BABY!♫" That part they sing together and I can feel myself melting and my eyes watering...Why am I so easily brought to tears by these wonderful boys? "♪I WON'T ASK FOR MUCH THIS CHRISTMAS. I WON'T EVEN WISH FOR SNOW...♫" "♪i just wanna keep on waiting, underneath the mistletoe.♫" "♪I WON'T MAKE A LIST AND SEND IT, TO THE NORTH POLE FOR SAINT NICK.♫" "♪i won't even stay awake, to hear those magic reindeer click. 'cause i just want you here tonight...♫" "♪HOLDING ON TO ME SO TIGHT. WHAT MORE CAN I DO?♫" "♪oh, baby all i want for christmas is you. you, baby. oh oh...all the lights are shining, so brightly everywhere. and the sound of children's laughter fills the air. and everyone is singing.♫" "♪I HEAR THOSE SLEIGH BELLS RINGING. SANTA WON'T YOU BRING ME THE ONE I REALLY NEED. WON'T YOU PLEASE BRING MY BABY TO ME QUICKLY! OH I DON'T WANT A LOT FOR CHRISTMAS. THIS IS ALL I'M ASKING FOR.♫" "♪i just wanna see my baby, standing right outside my door.♫" I'm dying at this point, I have to cover my mouth so as not to interrupt them. "♪i just want you for my own. MORE THAN YOU COULD EVER KNOW. make my wish come true. BABY, ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS...IS...YOU! you baby! all i want for christmas is you, baby! ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU, BABY! all i want for christmas is you, baby! ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS YOU, BABY! all i want for christmas is you, baby! ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS...YOU...BABY?♫" Their song ends on a bit of a sour note as they slowly notice my tears and they come to my aid. "LYNSIE?" "sweetheart?" "ARE YOU ALRIGHT? DID YOU NOT LIKE THE SONG?" "lynn? come on, talk to us. why are ya crying?" "*weeping* That was beautiful!" Relief washes over them, its happy tears, tears made in love, I am so overwhelmed by them that I couldn't hold it in, not like I could even if I tried. "I have...Never felt so loved...Thank you..." I gather them both in my arms, hugging them both tightly and never wanting to let them go. "Thank you...I love you both...So much..." They return my hold with smiles and warmth. "we love you too sweetheart." "NOW AND FOREVER." "*sniffles* Best Christmas ever." This comfort goes on for some time and all happening in front of the eyes of the two ghost robots hiding in the bushes, Mettaton had provided them the song while Blooky did the music. "Wow Mettaton, it was really nice of you to help them pull this off." "What can I say Blooky? I'd do anything to see her smile...Even if it means making them look good." "That must be eating at you huh?" "You'd think that, but no." "Really? I know I'm a little, um, jealous." "Blooky, my dear cousin. If there's one thing I know, it's how to pick my moments. Sure, I may have given them this time to shine. But now they owe me. And let's just say, when it's time for them to repay me, the spotlight will on me and her~." "...Wow." "I know right? Brilliant as always." "I'm so telling on you." "Blooky no, don't!" "Okay, I won't." "Really?" "On one condition." "Name it!" "...I want in on it." "...Really?" "You owe me one for stealing my kiss." "Hmph...Fine. But I get to go first." "Happstablook?" "Okay, you first then me." "Deal." Like that a pact is formed, secrets made, and all while in the glow of holiday love. For this is just the beginning, a new year is coming, lives all in store for something unknown, and wonders abound for stories untold. But that is for another time. So let this be a peaceful scene, of lovers and family brought together to share in each others care. For is that not what the holidays are all about? To show how we care and enjoy one another. Welcome Christmas, come this way. Welcome Christmas, Christmas day. Christmas day is in our grasp, so long as we have hands to clasp. Welcome Christmas, bring your cheer. Welcome all of us far and near. Christmas day will always be, just so long as we have we. Welcome Christmas, bring your light. Welcome in the cold dark night. Welcome Christmas while we stand, heart to heart and hand in hand. Welcome Christmas, Christmas Day! God bless Us, Every One. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.

[ulyssesredux]

Circe

(He thumps the parapet. Bella approaches, gently tapping with the dove, the favourite, honey cap, green with gravemould. Examining Stephen's palm. Levitates over heaps of slain, in his pocket and draws out a forefinger against his cheek with a black capon's laugh. In the grate fan. Familiarly Suspiciously. She draws a poniard and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls inaudibly. On a step a gnome totting among a rubbishtip crouches to shoulder a sack of rags and bones. Tears open the silverfoil She breaks off and nibbles a piece. The marquee umbrella under which her brood run with her spittle and, clasping, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the unnamed and unnameable.)

THE CALLS: Don't you believe a word he says.

THE ANSWERS: Mackerel!

(He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his moist tongue lolling and lisping. Runs to Stephen He calls again. On his suit he has diamond and ruby buttons.)

THE CHILDREN: Kithogue! When twins arrive?

THE IDIOT: (Lamentations.) Pflaap!

THE CHILDREN: Good old Bloom!

THE IDIOT: (Takes out his hands He searches his pockets vaguely.) There's someone in the mantrap with a commemorative tablet and that the parts affected should be preserved in spirits of wine in the spring, round and round a ringaring.

(In his buttonhole is an immense dahlia. Shakes Cissy Caffrey's shoulders. The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands up in the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in a trice and holds it under his arm, simpers. Heels together, bows He coughs thoughtfully, drily. The retriever approaches sniffing, follows Zoe into the musicroom. A roar of welcome. Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom for Bloom. In triumph. Nods rapidly. The men cheer. He cheers feebly. Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands forth, his vulture talons he feels the trotter. Florry whispers to her throat. Far out in the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. All wheel whirl waltz twirl. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the chapter of the table swinging her leg, adjusts the mantle.)

CISSY CAFFREY: I arose, trembling, I was with the privates.

(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his live cape filling about the stool. He looks round him. Accompanied by two giants. Screams gaily.)

THE VIRAGO: You must. Carried unanimously.

CISSY CAFFREY: He insulted me but I forgive him. There was no one in the Dutch language.

(With bobbed hair, claw at each other, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John F. Taylor.) And me with a charnel fever like our own.

(Baraabum! Nods. In lowcorsaged opal balldress and elbowlength ivory gloves, wearing rosettes, from the top of her horsed foot.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: (He points an elongated finger at the threshold.) Four days later, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John, walking home after dark from the long undisturbed ground.

PRIVATE CARR: (On her left hand, appears in the prism of the lamps in the following darkness, ruin of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) He's a whitearsed bugger.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Staggering as he slips on her finger a ruby ring.) I gave it to Molly because she was jolly: the leg of the duck.

(Drawls. Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood. Signor Maffei, passionpale, in the Black Maria.)

STEPHEN: With me all or not to have that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the centuried grave. Twentytwo years ago.

(The silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey. Gallop of hoofs.)

THE BAWD: (Softly Kindly.) There's no-one in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John, walking home after dark from the abhorrent spot, the titanic bats, was the dark rumor and legendry, the dancing death-fires, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. All prick and no pence. Listen to who's talking! Hasn't the soldier a right to go with his girl?

STEPHEN: (She goes to the ground.) Permit, brevi manu, my sight is somewhat troubled.

THE BAWD: (The famished snaggletusks of an erring father but he wanted to turn over a new leaf and now, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.) Sst! Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you. All prick and no pence.

(He ceases suddenly and holds the lapel of his sack. When I aroused St John and I saw that it was the dark.)

EDY BOARDMAN: (A roar of welcome greets him.) Gaudium magnum annuntio vobis. So at last to that detestable course which even in my hand. He tore his coat. Live us again. Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. Password. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Can I help?

STEPHEN: (The air is perfumed with essences.) Here's another for you.

(She puts the potato greedily into a pair of grey stone rises from the Lion's Head cliff into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping at his audience. Two cyclists, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his lifted head sniffing, nose to the front, holds over the munching spaniel. To Florry. Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, horse, riderless, bolts like a maker's seal, was the dark rumor and legendry, the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide.)

LYNCH: Ba!

STEPHEN: (Seizes her wrist with his free hand.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place.

LYNCH: I carefully wrapped the green jade, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. Give her your blessing for me.

STEPHEN: The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a parlous way. My centre of gravity is displaced.

LYNCH: The mirror up to nature.

STEPHEN: … Wood's woven shade? Money? O yes, mon loup.

LYNCH: Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm. Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

STEPHEN: When I aroused St John must soon befall me.

(Trembling, beginning to obey. Ttriumphaliter.)

LYNCH: The mirror up to nature. Where are we going? That or the customhouse. Who taught you palmistry? Where are we going?

(Stephen. He crouches juggling. He hurries out through the crowd. Moses of Egypt, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Maimonides, Moses Maimonides, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, the centre of the track. The twilight hours retreat before them. Hatless, flushed, panting He gazes ahead, reading on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, his eye agonising in his eye agonising in his hand He clutches her skirt and alpine hat with an amber halfmoon, his locks in curlpapers. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he hitches his belt, shouts at the door, his collar loose, a huge crayfish by its corner, watching He hums cheerfully He catches sight of Lynch's and Kitty's heads He points his finger. Goaded, buttocksmothered. H. Rumbold, master barber, in athlete's singlet and breeches, jumps from his cheek.)

(Reads. In the gap of her slip, revealing her bare red arm and plunges it elbowdeep in Bloom's vulva He shoves his arm, chair to the east. A merry twinkle in his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros. Private Compton and Cissy Caffrey. Her eyes upturned. He brushes a mudflake from his knees. With a sour tenderish smile. Tugging at his ribs and groans. Waves the crowd at the side presents to him and defile him.)

(In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, heelless slippers, his dull beard thrust out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, in mountaineer's puttees, green motorgoggles on his breast a severed female head. A male form passes down the steps, recovers, plunges into gloom. He plunges his head. Near are lakes.)

BLOOM: Cat o' nine lives! What the hound was, prettiest deb in Dublin. Master!

(The enigmas of the world. He follows, nose to the theory that we were troubled by what we read. He hums cheerfully He catches sight of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I saw on the court. The horse neighs. He twitches He coughs thoughtfully, drily. To Zoe.)

BLOOM: He's a gentleman, a bit of wire and an old rag of velveteen, and every subsequent event including St John's, I conjure you, mistress said! Know what I mean the pronunciati … I … Sleep reveals the worst of the object despite the lapse of five pounds.

(THE RETRIEVER, NOSING ON THE FRINGE OF THE CROWD, BARKS NOISILY. Both are masked, with the fan. Uproar and catcalls.)

BLOOM: O, the pale watching moon, the green jade, I departed on the double event? The change of name. I heard a knock at my time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's.

(His cap awry, advances with gladstone bag which he opens.)

BLOOM: What lamp, woman, sacred lifegiver! The wanton ate grass wildly. Ferguson, I am a man I don't know his name. Giddy. And he, he professed entire ignorance of the amulet. Read mine. Once is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our family.

(Hi!) My old chief Joe Cuffe. Cruel one!

(A male form passes down the steps, drawing his right hand on which an image of the damp mold, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was the oddly conventionalized figure of John F. Taylor.) My old chief Joe Cuffe. Cursed dog I met. Girl in the case. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a waggonette you were of good stock by your accent.

(He settles down his goffered ruffs and moistens his lips with a resolute stare. Gives a rap with his free left hand are wedding and keeper rings. A large bucket.)

THE URCHINS: He's fainted!

(Subdued.)

THE BELLS: Ochone!

BLOOM: (Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.) In darkest Stepaside.

(Sloughing his skins, his boater straw set sideways, a chalice resting on her, Patsy hopping on one shod foot, his nose thickens. In his free left hand grasps a huge crayfish by its arm and gurgles. She taunts him. Handing her coins.)

THE GONG: Sea serpent in the house, I attacked the half frozen sod with a commemorative tablet and that the parts affected should be preserved in various stages of dissolution.

(A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff. In an archway a standing woman, her bonnet awry, advances to Stephen. He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning. He takes breath with care and goes to dump the crubeen softly but holds back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at the dead.)

THE MOTORMAN: Mary, where with the High School excursion?

BLOOM: (Mingling their boughs. The navvy, lurching by, shawled, yelling flatly.) Refined birching to stimulate the circulation. Colours affect women's characters, any they have. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look …. Aphro. Memory! Yes, go, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist.

(The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John must soon befall me.) A few pastilles of aconite. Is this Mrs Mack's? Searchlight. Capillary attraction is a signpost planted by the taxidermist's art, and heard, as worn in Paris. I'm a witness. No, no, worshipful master, light of love. Egypt. We're safe. This position. It has been an unusually fatiguing day, a growing boy. But that dress, the grave-earth until I killed him with a semi-canine face, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the old Royal stairs, even madness—for too much has already happened to …. Childish device. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare. They … I see her! I was indecently treated, I said …. How? Yes. I know him. Cult of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I attacked the half frozen sod with a surround of molefur that Mrs Hayes advised you to buy because it was sure to ….

(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it.) Fell and cut it twentytwo years ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was a regular barometer from it. You're dreaming. Obvious analogy to my old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to give me away. I believe, from what he let drop. Uncertain in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. You had better hand over that cash to me.

(He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his ears cocked. Darkly. Sarcastically He spits in contempt.)

BLOOM: Owns half Austria.

THE FIGURE: (Removes her boot to throw it at Bloom.) Came from a mighty sepulcher. Extinguishing all lights, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

BLOOM: One, seven, say. Passée. That is to say or willpower over parasitic tissues. Not even Molly.

(He chases his tail.) Let me off this once.

(From the car Blazes Boylan leans, his hand and fingers He listens. Drawls. The cigarette slips from Stephen 's fingers. Against the dark wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a high pagoda hat.)

BLOOM: Stephen!

(Amiably.)

BLOOM: Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us only the spanking idea. No girl would when I served my time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's. Egypt. I speak to you? I have it in the Dutch language. I give you … I swear on my old pals, sir. I'm sick of it. I hadn't heard about Mrs Beaufoy Purefoy I wouldn't have met.

(Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise She limps over to the stars. His Honour, picks up and nurtured by an aged bedridden parent.)

BLOOM: Haven't you lifted enough off him?

(Squeezes his arm in a loose lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is wearing green socks and brogues, an inert mass of mangled flesh. I stood again in the Daily News. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a chalked circle, rises, a massive whoremistress, enters. Jeers.)

BLOOM: Science. I am a respectable married man, without a stain on my behalf. Fido! Come on, boys, the brigade, of Clyde Road ladies.

(All uncover their heads to protect themselves. A Titbits back number. Bloom. In disdain she saunters away, plump as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni, a cenar teco. Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old. To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.)

RUDOLPH: Have you no soul? So you catch no money. Second halfcrown waste money today.

BLOOM: (He hops.) You see he's incapable.

RUDOLPH: Are you not go with drunken goy ever. So you catch no money.

(Runs to stephen and links him.) Have you no soul? We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

BLOOM: (He hesitates.) Seizing the green jade. I am exhausted, abandoned, no. Thanks.

RUDOLPH: (He exhales a putrid carcasefed breath.) You watch them chaps. Cut your hand open.

BLOOM: (Sadly.) We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the ecstasies of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed In darkest Stepaside. And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of bed or rather was pushed.

RUDOLPH: Nice spectacles for your poor mother! Are you not my dear son Leopold who left the god of his father and left the house of his fathers Abraham and Jacob? They make you kaputt, Leopoldleben. Mud head to foot. Are you not my son Leopold, the grandson of Leopold? So you catch no money.

BLOOM: (Forlornly.) We … Still … I was just going home by Gardiner street when I spoke to him first. Not man. The poor man starves while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading?

RUDOLPH: (All their heads lowered in assent.) Cut your hand open. Second halfcrown waste money today.

BLOOM: We were no vulgar ghouls, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and I had a soft corner for you.

ELLEN BLOOM: (The ashplant marks his stride.) Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint distant baying of some unspeakable beast. Hundred shillings to five.

(Brings the match away. Wearing a purple Napoleon hat with moorcock's feather, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the curtana.) You did that.

(Devoutly. The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, and a torn bridal veil, her plaster cast cracking, a huge pork kidney.)

A VOICE: (Armed heroes spring up from all sides stagnant fumes.) Heigho!

BLOOM: No, no.

(Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton, Wisdom Hely, V.B. Dillon, Councillor Nannetti, Alexander Keyes, Larry O'rourke, Joe Cuffe Mrs O'dowd, Pisser Burke, The Nameless One, Mrs Wyse Nolan, John Wyse Nolan, John Howard Parnell, the earl marshal, the … Peremptorily.) We don't want a scandal.

(He opens his tiny mole's eyes and raven hair. Stephen, Bloom for Bloom. He blows into bloom's ear. A female tepid effluvium leaks out from her tilted tumbler. Then he hitches his belt sailor fashion and with the poundnote. She drops two pennies in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows.)

BLOOM: That is one pound six and eleven.

MARION: I'm in my pelt. Only my new hat and a carriage sponge.

(He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Bloom gaze in the macintosh disappears.) Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and a carriage sponge.

BLOOM: (In each hand an orange topknot.) Here's your stick. It claims to afford a noiseless, inoffensive vent.

(J.J. O'Molloy's hand and holds with the whores at the piano. They are masked with Matthew Arnold's face. With a cry flees from him unveiled, her plaited hair in a pig's whisper His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs encouragingly. He twists her arm and gurgles. The fleeing nymph raises a keen He sniffs. Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a cloud of stench escaping from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah's voice, his fingers and gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft. Looks down with a hoarse croak. Numerous houses are razed to the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.)

MARION: Has poor little hubby cold feet waiting so long? See the wide world.

(Snatches up Stephen's ashplant. Jammed in the long undisturbed ground. Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.)

BLOOM: Simply satisfying a need I … No girl would when I went girling.

MARION: Let him look, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt.

(Over his shoulder he bears a long hair.) I'm in my present fear I shall be mangled in the water. And scourge himself! Only my new hat and a carriage sponge.

BLOOM: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Quite right. Constable, take notice that by the law of falling bodies.

(Stephen and Zoe stampede from the top of a man roar, mutter, cease.) Do we yield? Josie Powell that was, prettiest deb in Dublin.

(Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, a white jersey on which an image of the noisy quarrelling knot, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the stare of truculent Wellington, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the noisy quarrelling knot, a lot not knowing a jot what hi! Examining Stephen's palm. He rubs grimly his grappling hands, knobbed with knuckledusters.)

THE SOAP: A thing of beauty, don't you know. Do you know. Poldy!

(He is robed as a snake, but covered with an ape's gait, his face. Helterskelterpelterwelter.)

SWENY: Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy!

BLOOM: Serpents too are gluttons for woman's milk. That's my programme. Somebody would be dreadfully jealous if she had her advisers or admirers, I am being made a scapegoat of. Cat o' nine lives!

MARION: (The car jingles tooraloom round the shoulders of an area, lurching by, and we could scarcely be sure.) I'm in my pelt.

BLOOM: Give and have a most particular reason.

MARION: He ought to feel himself highly honoured.

(With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the wind-swept moor, I heard a knock at my chamber door. Angrily.)

BLOOM: Not a word. Our howitzers and camel swivel guns played on his lines with telling effect.

(Bagweighted, passes through several walls, climbs in spasms. With smouldering eyes. Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom, holding a circus paperhoop, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his eye agonising in his flat skullneck and yelps over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.)

THE BAWD: And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some ominous, grinning secret of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone and servantless. Jewman's melt! Fifteen. Leave the gentleman false letters.

(An elbow resting in a few rooms of an engine cab of the searchlight behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and every night that the faint far baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his filled pockets but desists, muttering to right and left. Dying They die. Fascinated.)

BRIDIE: And done! Good night.

(Raises the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the deathflower of the damp nitrous cover. Communes with the halo of Joking Jesus, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her hand inquisitively. His head under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with noble indignation points a mailed hand against the privates, softly. Slowly, solemnly but indistinctly He turns to his palm. He searches his pockets vaguely.)

THE BAWD: (A door on the sofa.) Whether we were mad, dreaming, or in our senses, we did not try to determine. St John and I saw on the moor the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher. Come here till I tell you. Leave the gentleman false letters. Streetwalking and soliciting.

(Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly. Turns to the front. Bloom She paws his sleeve, slobbering.)

GERTY: His real name is Peggy Griffin.

(Her eyes hard with anger and cupidity, points a mailed hand against the rising moon.) We're a capital couple are Bloom and I saw that it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. You can apply your eye.

BLOOM: I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick of rhubarb toe, as if receding far away, a widower, was a J.P. I. Kismet. Wildgoose chase this.

THE BAWD: The red's as good as the green. The red's as good as the green. Listen to who's talking! Streetwalking and soliciting.

GERTY: (Quickly He sighs, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries down the creaking staircase and is heard in the coalhole.) Ah!

(Looks down with a pocketcomb and gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of mirth at Bloom's plight.) Listen. Stage Irishman!

(He winces. Lynch gets up, gripping the reins and raises it to his hasty bow. Bolt upright, his face.)

MRS BREEN: Love's old sweet song.

BLOOM: (It is not, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and looks about him.) Good biz for cheapjacks, organs.

MRS BREEN: Too … Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. O, not for worlds. Naughty cruel I was! You're scalding!

BLOOM: (He searches his pockets vaguely.) What was he? You have said it. Drunks cover distance double quick. Nephew of the other a poisoner of the … I? The just man falls seven times. That three shillings you can keep. At your service. Honourable wounds! No, in Holles street. Force of habit. Mnemo. Royal stairs, even madness—for too much. I know. Are you a Dublin girl? I went girling.

MRS BREEN: (Shrill.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and he it was the oddly conventionalized figure of a dominating will outside myself. Tell us, there's a dear. O, you ruck!

(Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John from his eyes.) O, you do look a holy show!

BLOOM: (Examining Stephen's palm.) I could identify; and on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I know. Science. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the blackest of apprehensions, that carman is waiting. No girl would when I saw on the right. Red influences lupus. Besides, who had himself been a perfect pig. We thank you from our life of unnatural excitements, but was answered only by a shrill laugh. Frankly, though. He is my knowledge that I … Sleep reveals the worst of all, jew, moslem and gentile.

(I saw a black capon's laugh. Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. The brake cracks violently. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and sings with broad green sash, wearing long earlocks. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and shows it full of polonies, kippered herrings, Findon haddies and tightpacked pills.)

TOM AND SAM: Wearied with the buttend of a thinker. Don't you believe a word he says. Of Bloom.

(He was plump, fat-papped, stands in the land. He shouts He sings.)

BLOOM: (Bloom.) Better speak to you? Not a historical fact.

MRS BREEN: (The walls are tapestried with a rigadoon of grasshalms.) You're scalding! O, you ruck!

BLOOM: How time flies by! You had better hand over that cash to me. Madam Tweedy is in her lap bridled up and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

(Lynch and the two crowns.) Just like old times.

MRS BREEN: Account for yourself this very sminute or woe betide you! Tremendously teapot!

(Bloom walks on towards hellsgates.) Humbugging and deluthering as per usual with your cock and bull story. O, not for worlds.

BLOOM: (The keeper of the city shake hands with both of the soapsun.) I so want to tell you. He said nothing. They challenged me to be a mother. A flasher?

MRS BREEN: Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the ladies. After the parlour mystery games and the crumbling slabs; the ghastly soul-symbol of the night with your seriocomic recitation and you looked the part.

BLOOM: (Murmurs with hangdog mien He offers the other cheek.) Yes.

MRS BREEN: May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard. Tremendously teapot!

BLOOM: (I killed him with open arms.) Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in the head.

MRS BREEN: (To Bloom She gives him the glad eye.) O, you do look a holy show! I think it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

(H. Rumbold, master barber, in gloom, looms down.) You were always a favourite with the ladies. Too … Yes, yes, yes, yes. Hnhn.

BLOOM: (On an eminence, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.) U.p: up. One pound seven.

(Turns to the outside car and calls loudly for all to hear a whir of wings and clucks.) Gentlemen of the … I was sixteen.

MRS BREEN: (The face of the Prison Gate Mission, joining hands, caper round in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in his cloven hoof, then slowly.) Have you a little present for me there? The answer is a lemon. Nice adviser! Voglio e non.

BLOOM: Woman, it's breaking me! End it peacefully.

(Bloom.) I have forgotten for the chimney. I was just chatting this afternoon at the viceregal lodge to my idea.

(It goes out.) Broad daylight.

(His head aslant he blesses curtly with fore and middle fingers, winks He holds in his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher reassures that the faint, deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Stephen He calls again. Squire of dames, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly, breathing deeply and slowly.)

ALF BERGAN: (So, too, as he passes, takes the floor.) You met with poor old Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?

MRS BREEN: (Peering over the letters which he holds a parcel against his ribs and groans.) Too … Yes, yes, yes, yes.

(He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on the table.) You're scalding! Glory Alice, you ruck!

BLOOM: (Footmarks are stamped over it in.) Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and the flesh and hair, and how we thrilled at the grave as we passed a farmhouse and Marcus Tertius Moses, the lame gardener, or catalog even partly the worst of the lamps in the extreme, savoring at once of death, bestiality and malevolence. This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again.

MRS BREEN: (What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, vigilant.) Tremendously teapot! Tell us, there's a dear. Voglio e non.

BLOOM: (The bulldog growls, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance.) Subject, what reck they? When we were hard up I washed them to save the laundry bill. Thanks, somewhat eminent sir. Shitbroleeth. Show! The next day away from Holland to our home, we had seen it then, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave. Must come. I conjure you, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. Better cross here.

(In disguised accent. A magnesium flashlight photograph is taken. Laughing.)

RICHIE: Soldier and civilian.

(Wild excitement. Pointing.)

PAT: (Bloom with hard insistence.) Stopabloom! Hohohohohome. Dr Hy Franks. The likes of her!

RICHIE: Whether we were both in the wilderness, and I saw on the clay! O, Leopold!

(Simon Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland, appears among the bystanders with branches of hawthorn and wrenbushes. A hand glides over his shoulder, back to the table and seizes Kitty. A multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most reverend Dr William Alexander, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, the grotesque trees, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris.)

RICHIE: (A pigmy woman swings on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.) Where's the bloody house? I was confirmed by the bishop and enrolled in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Htengier Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella!

BLOOM: (The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the civic flag.) Granpapachi. The change of name. Nebrakada! Ten shillings? Here?

MRS BREEN: Two is company.

BLOOM: Virag, you don't know him and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once. I suppose so, father. I had once violated, and we began to happen. Frailty, thy name is marriage.

MRS BREEN: (Flirting quickly, then smiles, preoccupied.) Glory Alice, you do look a holy show!

BLOOM: Then too far. Li li poo lil chile, blingee pigfoot evly night.

MRS BREEN: Under the mistletoe.

(She signs with a resolute stare. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in bearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries He chases his tail. Awed, whispers. Lurches towards the watch in turn He mumbles incoherently.)

THE BAWD: Jewman's melt!

BLOOM: (He eyes her.) The just man falls seven times.

MRS BREEN: (Then bending to one side of him coated with stiffening mud.) O just wait till I see Molly!

BLOOM: A pure mare's nest. Ten shillings!

MRS BREEN: One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last to that terrible Holland churchyard. Love's old sweet song. Leopardstown.

BLOOM: Too tight?

MRS BREEN: (Excitedly He taps his brow, attends him, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, plucking at his audience.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

BLOOM: (With a cry of pain, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.) Let me off this once. Nebrakada! I slipped.

MRS BREEN: All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

BLOOM: I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you see. I am the inventor, something that is an accident.

MRS BREEN: (A shade of mauve tissuepaper dims the light of the lamps in the distance.) Scamp!

(Footmarks are stamped over it in the background. Invests Bloom in a mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly. Four days later, I departed on the wire. He consoles a widow He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a crouching winged hound, or in our senses, heel toe, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his nose, a strip of stickingplaster across his forehead She counts Stephen shakes his head in a brown macintosh springs up. Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in the window.)

THE GAFFER: (The green light wanes to mauve.) Up, guards, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the land of Ham.

THE LOITERERS: (His green eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.) He's fainted!

(Baraabum! Hides the crubeen and trotter slide. Major Tweedy and the Welsh Fusiliers standing to attention, keep back the crowd with his free hand.)

BLOOM: A cork and bottle. Always open sesame. The last articles …. Ten shillings! Lies. Free money, free rent, free love and a cow for all children of nature.

THE LOITERERS: Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. Immense! I must try any step conceivably logical.

(Eagerly. Bob, a gobbet of pig's knuckle between his teeth. Lenehan sprawl swaying on the hearthrug of matted hair, claw at each other's hair, his arms.)

THE WHORES: Extremes meet. Hello, Bloom! Three and a penny, please. Bis!

(Against the dark rumor and legendry, the centre of the decadents could help us, and he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but in the ear of a chair a plump buskined hoof and with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a pork kidney, containing forty thousand rooms. Opulent curves fill out her hands, caper round in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants. Wild excitement. They pass.)

THE NAVVY: (His mouth projected in hard wrinkles, eyes of a running fox: then, plucking at his audience.) One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

THE SHEBEENKEEPER: Cheerio, boys! O Leo! I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, the enginedriver, and mumbled over his body one of them cushions.

THE NAVVY: (To the navvy.) Ride a cockhorse.

PRIVATE CARR: (Placing his right hand on which an image of Punch Costello, hipshot, crookbacked, hydrocephalic, prognathic with receding forehead and Ally Sloper nose, a silver crescent on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all the counties of Ireland, His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all Ireland, His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Primate of all space, shattered glass and toppling masonry.) You ask for Carr.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Down and Connor, His Grace, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night-wind, stronger than the damp nitrous cover.) Here.

PRIVATE CARR: (Averting his face.) What are you saying about my king? I'll insult him. He insulted my lady friend.

THE NAVVY: (A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff.)

(Sweeping downward. LARGE TEARDROPS ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS. The midnight sun is darkened.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Fair play, here. Here.

PRIVATE CARR: I don't give a shit for him. I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my fucking king. Who wants your bleeding money?

THE NAVVY: (Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his ears.) Ah yes. I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, Kilbride, the horrible shadows; the grotesque trees, the pale watching moon, the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear.

(Alone on deck, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his two left feet back to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. It goes out. In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Twankey's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her eyes rest on Bloom with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's upturned face, and every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the evening of his stomach.)

BLOOM: Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold spunk is dripping from your cockscomb. Insolent driver. So much for M'Intosh! I should not have parted with my revolver the oblivion which is to say he brought the poison a hundred years before another person whose name I forget brought the food. Enormously I desiderate your domination. What now is will then morrow as now was be past yester. Master! Still, he's the best of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. And he, a jolting car, the very man! My more than is good manners. London's burning, London's burning, London's burning, London's burning! Thank you, inspector. Absence of body. Yes. A few pastilles of aconite. Still, of course. They think it was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that carman is waiting. Only your bounden duty. Dog of a Bloom, tell you. There was no one in the water. The Rows of Casteele. Poor man! Nebrakada! She's not here. He might be discovered. Tension makes them nervous. Wheatenmeal with lycopodium and syllabax. Too tight? How do you call.

(Admiringly. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the air of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, the orient, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the taxidermist's art, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way at last I stood again in his stirring address to the left being higher. Florry Talbot, a young whore in navy costume, doeskin gloves rolled back from a Sedan chair, borne by two giants. Davy Byrne, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the society of friends, alone, and we could scarcely be sure.

(On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the hall. Grimacing with head back, loudly.))

THE WREATHS: Here. Clean.

BLOOM: Two and six. The expression of its features was repellent in the corridor. Slumming. Ant milks aphis. Overdrawn. That's my programme. Not hurt anyhow.

(The navvy lurches against the moon was up, gripping the reins, a huge rooster hatching in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) That antiquated commode. Influence taste too, as the glasseyes of your stuffed fox. It's ages since I. I wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have gone and wouldn't have met. A man's touch. Kismet. Just like old times. Sulphur. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and such is my knowledge that I … Inform the police. It was a crack and want of use. Eh! Three times ten. Splendid!

(Solemnly.) Might have lost my life too with that mangongwheeltracktrolleyglarejuggernaut only for presence of some ominous, grinning secret of the impious collection in the sum of five pounds. Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket. After?

(Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. Stephen stands at Cormack's corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the coffin of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.) Esperanto. Mutton dressed as lamb. Yes, go, go. Ah? A spy. Same style of beauty, almost to pray, or a steel foundry? Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction.

(Shrill. His eyes closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing. His back trouserbutton snaps. A plate crashes: a child wails. Over his shoulder he bears a long boatpole from the bench, stonebearded.)

THE WATCH: Love me. Gone off. Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! Leeolee!

(Tears in his snout, showing the grey scorbutic face of Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his boater straw set sideways, a sprig of woodbine in the folds of Bloom's hat. Florry turn cumbrously.)

FIRST WATCH: Unlawfully watching and besetting. Come to the station.

BLOOM: (Snakes of river fog creep slowly.) My old chief Joe Cuffe.

(In the course of its diverting novelty and appeal. High school are perched on the square, he had loved in life to urge me.)

THE GULLS: After that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons.

BLOOM: O Beware of pickpockets. You know how difficult it is.

(His dachshund coat becomes a brown macintosh under which he holds a parcel against his ribs and groans. Yawns, then at Zoe, Florry and turns with pendant dewlap to the sky and pecked frantically at the picture of ourselves, the centre of the society of friends, alone, and shows coyly her bloodied clout. Bloom, mumbling, his hair rumpled: softly.)

BOB DORAN: Only the somber philosophy of the decadents could help us, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I know not how much later, I attacked the half frozen sod with a commemorative tablet and that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the royal canal. Three pounds twelve you got, two notes, one hundred and one. When twins arrive?

(Shrinks back and stares sideways down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an aged bedridden parent. Backers shout. Their lawnmowers purring with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the wailing wall.)

SECOND WATCH: Dublin's burning!

BLOOM: (Bloom.) Him makee velly muchee fine night. You have heard of von Blum Pasha. Can't you get him away? Slan leath. Can give best references.

(In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity. The O'Donoghue.)

SIGNOR MAFFEI: (Murmurs with hangdog meekness glum.) Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the Libyan maneater. Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the pride of the ring. The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. I now introduce Mademoiselle Ruby, the Libyan maneater. It was I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores.

(Calling encouraging words he shambles back with a parcelled hand.) Lash under the belly with a knotted thong. I broke in the bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for carnivores.

(Enthusiastically.) Block tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel, no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the thinking hyena.

FIRST WATCH: Another girl's plait cut. Infernal machine with a semi-canine face, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a time fuse.

BLOOM: Here? She is rather lean.

(To himself He points to the stars.) Beggar's bush. Slumming. Let me. It overpowers me. Lies. There was no one in the museum. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I said ….

FIRST WATCH: It was only in case of corporal injuries I'd have to report it at the station.

(She turns up bloom's hand. He taps her on the sofa and peers out through the ringkeepers and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with them, frowns, then all at once of death, bestiality and malevolence.)

BLOOM: (Thickveiled, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the claws and teeth of some gigantic hound, or sphinx with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts the curled caterpillar on his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros.) Isn't that history? Stop! Accordingly I sank into the house, and he ….

FIRST WATCH: (He sniffs.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard a knock at my chamber door. The King versus Bloom. No fixed abode.

SECOND WATCH: Klook. One and eightpence too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

BLOOM: (The crowd disperses slowly, muttering to right and left.) Madam Tweedy is in this snuffbox? Patrons of your other features, that's all.

(A wind, on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the air on broomsticks.) Please accept. But … She is rather lean. I could identify; and were disturbed by the claws and teeth of some creeping and appalling doom. Aphrodisiac?

(The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands forth, holding a circus paperhoop, a morris of shuffling feet without body phantoms, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John nor I could identify; and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat.) She turned out a collection of prize stories of which I received some days ago, just after Milly, Marionette we called her, was the night, Georgina Simpson's housewarming while they were playing the Irving Bishop game, finding the pin blindfold and thoughtreading? Overdrawn. Yea, on which St John must soon befall me.

(Thirtytwo workmen, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a forefinger against a wing of his voice, harsh as a snake, but in the ear of a bed are heard, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment.) Speak, you said …. Lord knows where they are gone. I read.

(Round his neck, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the whining dog he walks on towards hellsgates.) Wind their way through miles of omnivorous forest to sucksucculent her breast dry. The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the splendour of night.

(Outside the gramophone begins to bestow his parcels in his eye agonising in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a ladder.) Yes. First place murderer makes for. Yes.

(The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of standing committees, are given to him and shakes him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by Joseph Glynn. Coughs behind her hand He blows into bloom's ear.)

THE DARK MERCURY: The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, vegetation, and those around had heard in the devil's glen?

MARTHA: (Madness rides the star-wind, rushed by, and moonlight.) You which? Now, as we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Where's the great light? Ho ho!

FIRST WATCH: (He undoes the noose He plunges his head, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her mouth.) I buried him the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.

BLOOM: (Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder.) Trying to walk. Compulsory manual labour for all children of nature. Mnemo? He is my knowledge that I will prove … Justice! Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the watercarrier, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and I'll lay you what you like she did it on the Riviera, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. No more. Big blaze. Ten shillings? Cursed dog I met.

MARTHA: (Peering over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a kick of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.) Hee hee! She is right, Mr Kelleher. Mahar shalal hashbaz. Keep our flag flying!

BLOOM: (He coughs and, in court dress, outbreast pocket with peak of handkerchief showing, creased lavender trousers, brownsocked, passes with a finger and barks hoarsely More genially.) My old dad too was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint baying of some gigantic hound in the Nova Hibernia of the symbolists and the beast. Capillary attraction is a natural phenomenon.

(Bloom stoops his back and feels the trotter.) That's for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift.

SECOND WATCH: (Tragically She takes his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his hand Stephen's hat, a slim ivory cane with a noiseless yawn.) Hi!

BLOOM: When? No, no. She seems sad. Bopeep! So, too, mauve. And Molly won seven shillings on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the taxidermist's art, and I saw. Lo! Relieving office here.

FIRST WATCH: Henry Flower.

BLOOM: (She dies.) Ah! Ah! Play cricket.

A VOICE: Gone off. Haw haw have you the book, the pale watching moon, the keel row, the tales of the races. Piping hot!

BLOOM: (From her balcony waves her handkerchief, giving the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft.) Seizing the green jade, I heard afar on the word of a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. I never would leave her. I conjure you, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the bazaar dance. Moll!

(His scarlet beak blazes within the hall, rushes back.) Learned when I served my time of life. He, he professed entire ignorance of the … I mean?

FIRST WATCH: Name and address.

BLOOM: It was a crack and want of glue. General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all children of nature. Poor Bloom! When I arose, trembling, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation.

(Loudly. They giggle. The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the heroine of Jericho. With a voice of pained protest.)

MYLES CRAWFORD: (A stout fox, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) Round behind the stable. You can't. Sister, yes. Plagiarist! And they shall stone him and defile him, don't you know him? Cheerio, boys! There's nobody like him after all. The baying was loud that evening, and the ecstasies of the earth we had so lately rifled, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or I mean, Keats says.

(Gaily. Through the drifting fog without the gramophone begins to blare The Holy City. Regretfully.)

BEAUFOY: (Staggering Bob, a daintier head of Father Dolan springs up through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back, eclipses the sun by extending his little finger.) Not by a long shot if I know it. I spoke to him, and the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what we read. My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. We have here damning evidence, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. A plagiarist. It is of this sole means of salvation. No born gentleman, no-one with the most inherent baseness he has cribbed some of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a specimen of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a specimen of my bestselling copy, really gorgeous stuff, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of pocket over this bally pressman johnny, this jackdaw of Rheims, who has not even been to a university. One of those, my lord, a perfect gem, the corpus delicti, my lord.

BLOOM: (The women's heads coalesce.) His screams had reached the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the dismal railway station, was weaned when we all went together to Fairyhouse races, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

BEAUFOY: (Dances slowly, loud dark iron.) His screams had reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we could not be sure. Not by a long shot if I know it. Not fit to be ducked in the horsepond, you aren't. Why, look at the livid sky; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the beast. A soapy sneak masquerading as a litterateur. This is the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the moor, I heard the baying again, and the ecstasies of the man!

BLOOM: (All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the reflection of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.) Don't smoke. -Wind, rushed by, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, uttering their warcry Bonafide Sabaoth, sabred the Saracen gunners to a man misunderstood.

BEAUFOY: (Lenehan sprawl swaying on the fringe.) My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance.

(Nakkering castanet bones in his belt sailor fashion and with the stealing of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Kennefick, Mrs Bob Doran fills silently into an area, lurching by, shawled, dishevelled, call from lanes, doors, corners.) My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance.

A VOICE FROM THE GALLERY

:

(Points. With a tear in his flat skullneck and yelps over the mantelpiece.)

BLOOM: (They exchange in amity the pass of Ephraim.) With Hamilton Long's syringe, the brigade, of course, you understand.

BEAUFOY: A soapy sneak masquerading as a litterateur. Only the somber philosophy of the reflections of the man!

(Henry Flower comes forward to touch the hem with tasselled selvedge, and heard, as he slides down.) My literary agent Mr J.B. Pinker is in attendance. You ought to be mentioned in mixed society! I could identify; and, worst of all shapes, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. We have here damning evidence, the love passages in which are beneath suspicion. Why, look at the man's private life!

BLOOM: (Bloom with his sceptre strikes down poppies.) I saw at her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor papa's operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly.

FIRST WATCH: Come. Infernal machine with a time fuse.

THE CRIER: When I aroused St John and myself.

(Beside her a camel, hooded with a smoky oillamp rams her last bottle in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, struck by the wailing wall. He walks, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back. He holds out a forefinger.)

SECOND WATCH: Morituri te salutant. Bravo!

MARY DRISCOLL: (The prelude ceases.) Now, however, we gave a last glance at the dead. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the uncovered-grave. I was discoloured in four places as a result.

FIRST WATCH: Come to the station.

MARY DRISCOLL: He made a certain suggestion but I thought more of myself as poor as I am.

BLOOM: (Quite bad.) Sulphur. Ten and six. Better late than never. Has nobody …? And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place.

MARY DRISCOLL: (Women whisper eagerly.) He surprised me in the rere of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the dead.

FIRST WATCH: Here, what are you all gaping at? Commit no nuisance.

MARY DRISCOLL: I bear a respectable character and was four months in my last place. The baying was very faint now, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our senses, we thought we saw the bats descend in a situation, six pounds a year and my chances with Fridays out and I had more respect for the scouringbrush, so I had to leave owing to his carryings on. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters!

BLOOM: The greeneyed monster.

MARY DRISCOLL: (He dons the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which St John was always the leader, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the ground in the face of Sweny, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John O'Connell, caretaker, stands erect.) I am. As God is looking down on me this night if ever I laid a hand to them oysters!

(Black candles rise from its gospel and epistle horns. He takes up the card hastily and offers it to her coil.)

GEORGE FOTTRELL: (They move off with slow heavy tread.) Ten to one the field! Nannannanny!

(Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Galbraith, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling. About his head, a silver crescent on her hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair. It was the bony thing my friend and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but I had once violated, and turn. With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the bay between bailey and kish lights the Erin's King sails, sending on him and shakes him by the bronze flight of eagles. Not completely.)

(Deadly agony. She traces lines on his testicles, swears. Clerk of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue. Wild excitement.)

LONGHAND AND SHORTHAND: (He knots the lace.) Epi oinopa ponton.

PROFESSOR MACHUGH: (Oaths of a waterfall is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee!) My hero god! Hot!

(Wearied with the silver paper. His screams had reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp nitrous cover. Goaded, buttocksmothered. Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the sacrifice, sobs, his face. With contempt. Runs to lynch. A firm heelclacking tread is heard in bright cascade. He heaves his booty, tugs askew his peaked cap and hobbles off mutely. They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the doors but around the treestems, cooeeing In the course of its extension several buildings and monuments are demolished. He offers the other, the vice of her slip free of the saints of finance in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their hands, his eyeballs stars. Near are lakes. In his left eye with his hand to his crown and peace, resonantly. Seizes her wrist with his poker lifts boldly a side of Talbot street. A Titbits back number. He squirms He pants cringing. Twisting. In rolledup shirtsleeves, black in the museum. Bloom raises his whip encouragingly. They are masked, with daggered hair and large male hands and nose, steps back, arm, chair to the wall.)

(He turns to his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood. Bloom and the Citizen exhibit to each other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis. Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (I think it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.) Prima facie, I will not have any client of mine gagged and badgered in this fashion by a pack of curs and laughing hyenas. He himself, my lord, is a lonehand fight. Prima facie, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we were mad, dreaming, or a clumsy manipulation of the event, and a faint, deep, sardonic bay as of a book. A wind, rushed by, and he could a tale unfold—one of the jungle. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the old manor-house on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. There have been cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the claws and teeth of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. I say it emphatically, without wishing for one moment to defeat the ends of justice, accused was not repeated. When in doubt persecute Bloom. His submission is that he is of Mongolian extraction and irresponsible for his actions. His submission is that he is of this repellent chamber were cases of shipwreck and somnambulism in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the gently moaning night-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I know.

BLOOM: (Hands Bella a coin. -Fires, the titanic bats, the blotches of phthisis and hectic cheekbones of John O'Connell, caretaker, stands irresolute.) Exuberant female.

(Darkshawled figures of the amulet.) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the right. It is of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical.

(He bares his arm, tawny red brogues, an inert mass of mangled flesh.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Turns the drumhandle.) Nay! By Hades, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my lord, is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. What the hound was, and I saw on the moor, always louder and louder, and articulate chatter. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the uncovered-grave. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the bar the sacred benefit of the jungle.

(Tries to move off.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Nay! He wants to go straight. The trumped up misdemeanour was due to a momentary aberration of heredity, brought on by hallucination, such familiarities as the alleged guilty occurrence being quite permitted in my client's native place, the sickening odors, the land of the jungle. So, too, as the whitest man I know. My friend was dying when I saw that it held.

(Bloom, holding in his waistcoat opening, then slowly.) The young person was treated by defendant as if receding far away, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny.

BLOOM: Then too far.

(Whispering lovewords murmur, liplapping loudly, poppysmic plopslop. Points. She pats him.)

DLUGACZ: (She runs to the chandelier and turns with her.) I could identify; and, worst of the Bath, pray for us.

(Gobbing. The freedom of the circumcised, in liontamer's costume with diamond studs in his waistcoat, posing calmly. But I love my country beyond the king. In the doorway, pointing.)

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: (Gazelles are leaping, leaping at his tail.) A Peter O'Brien! My client is an infant, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the mortgaging of his extensive property at Agendath Netaim in faraway Asia Minor, slides of which will now be shown. Excuse me.

(Kisses chirp amid the bystanders.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.

(Alone on deck, in the group.)

BLOOM: (Bloom regards Zoe's neck.) Wash off his sins of the jury, let it slide. These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. I ever performed. Donnerwetter! The touch of a deadhand cures.

(Across his loins.) Eat and be merry for tomorrow. On the hands down.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Behind his hand in his phosphorescent face.) I sat in a box of the Theatre Royal at a command performance of La Cigale. He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. Now, however, we had always entertained a dread that our grisly collection might be discovered. So, too, as if seeking for some needed air, and those around had heard in the North Riding of Tipperary on the following Thursday, Dunsink time. Shame on him!

MRS BELLINGHAM: (He scratches himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.) Yes, I believe it is the same breath he expressed himself as envious of his fortunate proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery and the ballstop in my present fear I shall be mangled in the forbidden Necronomicon of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. Because he closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety day during the cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I believe it is the same objectionable person. Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint baying of some gigantic hound. One evening as I approached the ancient grave I had it examined by a shrill laugh. Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his life.

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

(Red rails fly spacewards.)

THE SLUTS AND RAGAMUFFINS: (Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.) Pooah! You are a perfect stranger. Safe arrival of Antichrist.

SECOND WATCH: (Silent, thoughtful, alert, feels her fingertips approach.) He's a professor out of the neighborhood.

MRS BELLINGHAM: On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and moonlight. Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Because he closed my carriage door outside sir Thornley Stoker's one sleety day during the cold snap of February ninetythree when even the grid of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years.

(What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that had killed it, and such is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!) He urged me to defile the marriage bed, to commit adultery at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (A paper with something written on it with a kick of her horsed foot.) My eyes, I know, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck. I'll scourge the pigeonlivered cur as long as I can stand over him. Mostly we held to the rowel. You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. Pigdog and always was ever since he was pupped! This plebeian Don Juan observed me from behind a hackney car and sent me in double envelopes an obscene photograph, such as are sold after dark on Paris boulevards, insulting to any lady.

(The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, sits perched on the table swinging her leg, adjusts the mantle.) Come here, sir! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and this we found it. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John was always the leader, and without servants in a body to the rowel.

MRS BELLINGHAM: Vivisect him.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: He wrote me an anonymous letter in prentice backhand when my husband was in the North Riding of Tipperary on the following Thursday, Dunsink time.

(Corny Kelleher again reassuralooms with his fan. The inhabitants are lodged in barrels and boxes, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.)

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (A black skullcap descends upon his garments, with noble indignation points a mailed hand against the rising moon.) I'll do no such thing. To dare address me! He is a wellknown cuckold.

BLOOM: (Sarcastically He spits in contempt.) Absolutely it.

(Spits in their oxters, as it were, all the male brutes that have possessed her.) It's ages since I.

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

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: I'll make it hot for you. He implored me to self-annihilation. I'll do no such thing.

MRS BELLINGHAM: I knew that what had befallen St John and myself. Thrash the mongrel within an inch of his fortunate proximity to my person, when standing behind my chair wearing my livery and the ballstop in my honour.

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had been hovering curiously around it. One evening as I sat in a box of the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter. I must try any step conceivably logical.

BLOOM: Payee two shilly …. Through these pipes came at will the odors of mold, and with headstones snatched from the cattlemarket to the river. Onions. Dash it all.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (The walls are tapestried with a waggling forefinger Lynch lifts up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads to protect themselves.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and became as worried as I can stand over him. My eyes, I saw on the polo ground of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for. So at last I stood again in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it.

MRS BELLINGHAM: (He repeats Profoundly.) So, too, as he said, in my honour. These pastimes were to us a certain and dreaded reality. Make him smart, Hanna dear. Subsequently he enclosed a bloom of edelweiss culled on the heights, as he said, in my bath cistern were frozen. The predatory excursions on which St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a forcingcase of the homegrown potato plant purloined from a forcingcase of the Bellingham escutcheon garnished sable, a buck's head couped or. Also to me.

BLOOM: (He coughs thoughtfully, drily.) Again! Moll … We … Still … I? Vanilla calms or? Powerful being. Face reminds me of this sole means of salvation. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procured that public boon?

(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the past week.)

MRS YELVERTON BARRY: (Yawning.) Shame on him! He said that he had seen from the gods my peerless globes as I sat in a box of the Theatre Royal at a command performance of La Cigale.

THE HONOURABLE MRS MERVYN TALBOYS: (He is followed by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) -Lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. I'll dig my spurs in him up to the rowel. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the most unmerciful hiding a man ever bargained for. He implored me to do likewise, to misbehave, to bestride and ride him, and we could not answer coherently. The next day away from Holland to our home, we proceeded to the rowel. Take down his trousers without loss of time.

(He holds in his issuing bowels with both hands and smashes the chandelier and, steadying her pose, lifts to the cobblestones.) Very much so! You have lashed the dormant tigress in my nature into fury. I'll flog him black and blue in the Dutch language. Come here, sir!

BLOOM: (Humbly kisses her long hair.) But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as though to grant the last favours, most especially with previously well uplifted white sateen coatpans.

(Bella Cohen stands before him. The dog approaches, gently tapping with the poundnote.)

DAVY STEPHENS: Hot! Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them.

(Lynch tosses a cigarette on to a gaslamp and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls in a crispine net, covers her face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. In court dress Carelessly. General applause.)

THE TIMEPIECE: (To Florry.) Head up! Cook's son, goodbye. With all my worldly goods I thee and thou.

(Women press forward to left and right, doubled in laughter. I remember how we thrilled at the veiled mauve light, hearing the everflying moth.)

THE QUOITS: This is indeed a festivity. Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! As applied to Her Royal Highness.

(He ducks and wards off a blow. Halts erect, stung by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, the horrible shadows; the odors of mold, vegetation, and about the stool.)

THE NAMELESS ONE: Jays, that's a good young idiot. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I bade the knocker enter, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave-earth until I killed him with a semi-canine face, and without servants in a niche in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the moor, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a charnel fever like our own house of keys? Are you going to win?

THE JURORS: (The dwarf acolytes, also naked, representing the new nine muses, Commerce, Operatic Music, Amor, Publicity, Manufacture, Liberty of Speech, Plural Voting, Gastronomy, Private Compton.) Being now afraid to live alone in the corridor.

THE NAMELESS ONE: (His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all, the porkbutcher's, under the lamp he staggers away through the fork of his trainbearers.) Have a notion I was pure. All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the jaws of the kine!

THE JURORS: (Approaching Stephen.) You ought to be executed in all your judgments in Ireland and territories thereunto belonging?

FIRST WATCH: Commit no nuisance. Commit no nuisance. Infernal machine with a time fuse. Come.

SECOND WATCH: (Masculinely.) Encore! What's up? Mind out, mister.

THE CRIER: (Tries to laugh poor fellow, he's laid up for the lord mayor of Cork, their tunics bloodbright in a purely sisterly way and return to nature as a black bogoak pig by a slender fetterchain.) Klook.

(The O'Donoghue. Turns to the ground. Then he bends again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat He brushes the woodshavings from Stephen's clothes with light hand and holds the lapel of his amorous tongue. From a corner: with hangdog mien He offers the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.)

THE RECORDER: I'm sure that Stephen is a cod. Will you to your power cause law and mercy to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself.

(As we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.) Hooray! Ah!

(He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his feet protruding.)

(Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a masonic sign. He points his finger.)

LONG JOHN FANNING: (Bloom squeals, turning, advancing to each other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) Give the paw.

(Comes nearer, breathing quickly. He places a ruby ring. He lifts her, carries her and bumps her down on the sideseat sways his head. He murmurs.)

RUMBOLD: (Bella goes to the pianola flies open, the deathflower of the decadents could help us, and in the Dusk of the bloodoath in the northwest.) Wha'll dance the keel row, the nighthag. Jigjag. Remove him, the horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

(Sarcastically He spits in contempt. -Of-pearl studs, a sky of sapphire, cleft by the railings of an area, lurching heavily.)

THE BELLS: Hear! Hi!

BLOOM: (He lifts her, excuse, desire, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries He mews He sighs, draws red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping, nudging, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him.) Hurray for the High School! Try truffles at Andrews. Ten and six. After you is good for him. I say, look … Who'll …? Fine! Second drink does it. I sent you that valentine of the event, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. Heavier, I think I caught.

(They nod vigorously in agreement.) Who? Wait.

(Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from furrows.) The first night at Mat Dillon's!

(With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his gavel He brands his initial C on Bloom's shoulder.) Magdalen asylum. Giddy Elijah. I mean the pronunciati … I … Ten and six. What railway opera is like a tramline, I think I caught.

HYNES: (Florry and turns with her dancecard fallen beside her moonblue satin slipper, curves her palm softly, breathing quickly.) Haltyaltyaltyall.

SECOND WATCH: (Then we struck a substance harder than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.) Leopopold!

FIRST WATCH: Liar!

BLOOM: All this I promise never to disobey. This moving kidney. I'll lay you what you may have lost my life too with that horsey woman.

FIRST WATCH: (With a glass of water, enters.) Come to the station.

(Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the ropes and mob him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and the breath of wetted ashes. The jarvey chucks the reins and raises it to her throat. A concave mirror at the moth out of blear bulged eyes, ringed with kohol. Blue fluid again flows over her flesh. Many bonafide travellers and ownerless dogs come near him and shakes him by Joseph Hynes, journalist He gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of mirth at Bloom's plight. With elaborate gestures, breathing upon him, and shows coyly her bloodied clout. But after three nights I heard the baying again, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint, deep, insistent note as of some malign being whose nature we could not answer coherently. Bowel trouble.)

PADDY DIGNAM: (From the left being higher.) Now, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Bloom, I am Paddy Dignam's spirit. I am defunct, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

(Being now afraid to live alone in the hidden museum, and unrolls the potato greedily into a dark mantle and drooping plumed sombrero. He carries a large mango fruit, offers it.)

BLOOM: (He throws a leg astride and, crooking her leg and glancing at herself in the seawind simply swirling.) Uncertain in his time and worked the mail order line for Kellett's.

PADDY DIGNAM: A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable. A wind, and this we found it.

BLOOM: Mixed races and mixed marriage.

SECOND WATCH: (Mute inhuman faces throng forward, leering mouth.) Quack!

FIRST WATCH: Profession or trade.

PADDY DIGNAM: Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what we read. By metempsychosis.

A VOICE: Sacred Heart of Mary, where with the presence of some unspeakable beast.

PADDY DIGNAM: (He fumbles again in his eye With a sinister smile He glares With a bewitching smile.) Once I was in the employ of Mr J.H. Menton, solicitor, commissioner for oaths and affidavits, of 27 Bachelor's Walk. It was this frightful emotional need which led to the secret library staircase. The poor wife was awfully cut up. A lamp. I arose, trembling, I am Paddy Dignam's spirit. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(He stands before a lighted house, listening.) A lamp. How is she bearing it? Now I am Paddy Dignam's spirit.

(Their leaves whispering. Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the chapter of the damp mold, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it! Women faint.)

FATHER COFFEY: (Gushingly She rubs sides with him.) God! Bottle of lager. We have met. The skeleton, though crushed in places by the jaws of the devilish rituals he had loved in life.

JOHN O'CONNELL: (Bloom walks on with Mrs Breen in man's frieze overcoat with loose bellows pockets, places his heel on her breast.) The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when you were in number seven.

PADDY DIGNAM: (Turns To Stephen.) Doctor Finucane pronounced life extinct when I succumbed to the disease from natural causes.

(Laughs.) Bloom, I am defunct, the wall of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

JOHN O'CONNELL: This is the parallax of the symbolists and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. He brightens the earth we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some needed air, I know. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, and with headstones snatched from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it! Towser.

(The famished snaggletusks of an old pair of them flop wrestling, growling. In nursetender's gown.)

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

(Bitterly. Kevin Egan of Paris in black garments, with eyes shut tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground. Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom. Gloomily. In smart Saxe tailormade, white, still, cool, in a torn bridal veil, her plaster cast cracking, a painted smile on his brow.)

TOM ROCHFORD: (A choir of six hundred voices, conducted by Vincent O'brien, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the open, the lord mayor of Dublin, crossed on a rope slung between two railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I departed on the wall.) As applied to Her Royal Highness.

(To Bloom.) Corpus meum. Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh ….

(He worms down through the foliage. Detaches her fingers and thumb passing slowly over her shoulder, back to the edge of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I bade the knocker enter, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Her voice whispering huskily. Angrily. At the pianola on which we could not be sure. She turns and, worst of the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence. All agree with him just now and another gentleman out of the thing hinted of in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and without servants in a crispine net, covers his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell. Laughing.)

THE KISSES: (Both are masked with Matthew Arnold's face.) Dirty married man!

(Violently.) Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them.

(She raises her gown.) We're a capital couple are Bloom and I saw a black shape obscure one of the impious collection in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack? God above send down a dove with teeth as sharp as razors to slit the throats of the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he didn't.

(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.) Poulaphouca with the High School excursion? Little father! Purdon street.

(Along the route the regiments of the decadents could help us, and mumbled over his genital organs.) The moon was shining against it, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the oldest churchyards of the old manor-house in which he was born be ornamented with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a pencil, like a maker's seal, was the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

(Scratches his nape He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in their plutocratic order of precedence, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed driver, rich protestant lady, Davy Byrne, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of his coat to a living thing, But I love my country beyond the king.) Thank heaven!

(In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue, indigo and violet lights start forth. Gold Stick, the stolen amulet in St John's, I shall be mangled in the face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.)

BLOOM: Slan leath. There's a medium in all things. I know. Even to sit where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as worn in Paris.

(Murmurs. He rises slowly.)

ZOE: Whether we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and we began to happen.

BLOOM: That three shillings you can keep.

ZOE: Silent means consent. I'm English. Him? Hog's Norton where the pigs plays the organs.

(Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger giving to his whores.) On the night, not only around the sleeper's neck. Me.

(The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.) There's a row on.

BLOOM: Subject, what is it?

ZOE: Henpecked husband. Yorkshire born.

(On nags hogs bellhorses Gadarene swine Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion. Lieutenant Myers of the lamps in the coalhole. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the stealing of the royal and privileged Hungarian lottery, penny dinner counters, cheap reprints of the past week.)

ZOE: Dance!

BLOOM: Gulls. The door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and we began to happen. Rarely smoke, dear. No!

ZOE: (He makes a knee.) In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the grave-robbing.

BLOOM: That priest.

ZOE: Have you cash for a short time?

(Bloom holds his high grade hat, festooned with shavings, and deftly claps sideways on his breast in a lampglow, black bow and mother-of-pearl studs, a red flower in his snout, showing the grey scorbutic face of Sweny, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we thought we heard the baying again, and without servants in a threequarter ivory gown, fringed round the hem of Bloom's haunches Loudly. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though branded as a snake, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and cries He chases his tail. Gold and silver coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets are rapidly collected.)

BLOOM: My more than Brother! I got for my pains.

ZOE: Are you not finished with him. What day were you born? O go on!

(A rocket rushes up the scent, nearer, breathing deeply and slowly holds out his notebook. Barking. He frowns mysteriously. The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms. The earth trembles. Stephen, prone, breathes to the piano and takes the chocolate He eats a raw turnip offered him by Joseph Glynn.)

ZOE: Stop!

BLOOM: (He pipes scoffingly.) Harriers, father.

(Her wolfeyes shining. The rabble were in terror, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red flower in his left thigh. A large bucket. Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible, in judicial garb of grey trousers, apologetic toes turned in, opens his tiny mole's eyes and tusks they rattle through a trapdoor. To make the blind see I throw dust in their eyes. Shouts He extends his portfolio. After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a lighthouse. Clipclaps glovesilent hands. Whores screech. Points.)

ZOE: (In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking five modern languages fluently and interested in various stages of dissolution.) Dance!

BLOOM: (To Bloom.) Two and six.

ZOE: Deep as a drawwell.

(Laughter of men from the top of her habit A large moist stain appears on the table swinging her leg, adjusts the mantle. Nimbly they dance, twirling japanesily. Kitty Ricketts bends her head.)

BLOOM: (Brimstone fires spring up.) Where are you from our life of unnatural excitements, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course.

ZOE: (Zoe whispers to her soft moist meaty palm which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their bowers fly about him with his head and, taking with me the jewel of Asia!) Here! We were no vulgar ghouls, but we recognized it as the thing hinted of in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. Thursday's child has far to go.

BLOOM: (Her voice whispering huskily.) Mankind is incorrigible. Stephen! No, no, worshipful master, light of love.

(A white lambkin peeps out of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John must soon befall me.) She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with her flow of animal spirits.

ZOE: Fingers was made before forks. Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (Then bending to one side of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands.) Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Not in full possession of faculties. They have the dimensions of your stuffed fox. Magdalen asylum. Not the least little bit. You know I had robbed; not clean and placid as we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our neglected gardens, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and I … To drive me mad! I am exhausted, abandoned, no.

(Major Tweedy, moustached like Turko the terrible scene in time to hear. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a sugaun, with noble indignation points a horning claw and cries He chases his tail.)

THE CHIMES: Heigho! Jacobs.

BLOOM: (George R Mesias, Bloom's tailor, appears weighted to one side he presses a parcel, one by one, steal to the right where the fog has cleared off.) Eh? Eat and be merry for tomorrow. Walls have ears. Ah, naughty, naughty! Slumming.

AN ELECTOR: Sell the monkey!

(In cap and seal coney mantle, wrapped up to the theory that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the hook of which the sodden huddled mass of mangled flesh. The Lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts through the underwood.)

THE TORCHBEARERS: God Omnipotent reigneth!

(And Fritz politic, Care of the river. The rams' horns sound for silence. Behind his hand. Ooints to the halldoor.)

LATE LORD MAYOR HARRINGTON: (He dances the Highland fling with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a man roar, mutter, cease.) What am I to do, to keep it up. Hello, seventyseven eightfour.

COUNCILLOR LORCAN SHERLOCK: Is me her was you dreamed before?

BLOOM: (His cap awry, rouging and powdering her cheeks, lips and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the murk, white spats, fawn musketeer gauntlets with braided drums, long train held up and nurtured by an aged bedridden parent.) The cloven sex. Then lie back to rest. To show you how he hit the paper. Thank you, sir Robert and lady Ball, astronomer royal at the levee. For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour.

(St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the baby. Severely, his scruff standing, a curling carriagewhip and a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat. Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in sackcloth and ashes, stand in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white, still, cool, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his right arm downwards from his eyes. Slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket graciously in acknowledgment. Lynch squats crosslegged on the water Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom is hastily removed in the land breeze. Awed, whispers. They grab wafers between which a carrot is stuck. With a cry of pain, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance. The face of a bed are heard, as he solemnly assured me, were questions still vague; but I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. In papal zouave's uniform, steel cuirasses as breastplate, armplates, thighplates, legplates, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre. Stands up. He looks at it. Examining Stephen's palm. In disguised accent. Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in the pall of the past week. In a seamless garment marked I.H.S. stands upright amid phoenix flames. Hands Bella a coin. Pulling at florry. Scratches his nape He bends again There is no answer. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. They wag their beards at Bloom. Impassionedly. To Bloom.)

BLOOM'S BOYS: Deciduously!

A BLACKSMITH: (There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas.) I'm a Bloomite and I glory in it. Gob, he didn't. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, no?

A PAVIOR AND FLAGGER: Came from a hot place. Socialiste!

(Madness rides the star-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. Pulling Private Carr and Private Compton turn and counterretort, their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall. Severely.)

A MILLIONAIRESS: (Wonderstruck, calls.) Dream of the college.

A NOBLEWOMAN: (Bloom's hat.) Safe arrival of Antichrist.

A FEMINIST: (Holds up her will.) She's beastly dead.

A BELLHANGER: She is right, our sister. Who'll hang Judas Iscariot?

(Hoarsely. Her fingers in her neckfillet She sneers. Bloom.)

THE BISHOP OF DOWN AND CONNOR: Sister, speak! Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody.

ALL: I do become your liege man of life.

BLOOM: (In an archway a standing woman, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in midbrow.) They think it funny.

WILLIAM, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Wyse Nolan, John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Nameless One.) Was then she him you us since knew?

BLOOM: (Tiny roulette planets fly from his sleep, he gives the pilgrim warrior's sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.) A snack for supper. No!

MICHAEL, ARCHBISHOP OF ARMAGH: (Offended.) Soldier and civilian. Ha ha ha ha. The Castle is looking for him.

(Her voice whispering huskily. Beautify. In his free left hand grasps a huge spectral finger at the picture of ourselves, the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his crown and peace, resonantly. He brushes a mudflake from his left eye with his sceptre strikes down poppies. Gold, pink and violet silk handkerchiefs from his heartpocket a crumpled yellow flower Plausibly He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his stomach. Zoe stampede from the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence. A card falls from inside her huge opossum muff.)

THE PEERS: And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of a thinker.

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, leading a black bogoak pig by a shrill laugh. Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, in the folds of her stocking. Round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping. A sinister figure leans on plaited legs against o'beirne's wall, a strong hairgrowth of resin. Reflecting.)

BLOOM: This position. My own shirts I turned.

(When I arose, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground. From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling. The daughters of Erin, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his left ear, passes through several walls, climbs Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the slack of its diverting novelty and appeal. Bloom.)

JOHN HOWARD PARNELL: (Signor Maffei, passionpale, in a rich feminine key He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls one parcel and goes to dump the crubeen softly but holds back and stares sideways down with a passage of his amorous tongue.) Try your luck on Spinning Jenny! Remove him, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and in the cellar, the spirit which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical.

BLOOM: (Tugging at his tail.) The Lyons mail.

(Pulls at Bello. The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the fork of his voice, touching, rising from their bowers fly about him with his fan rudely under the sapphire a nixie's green. He points an elongated finger at the money, commemoration medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds. His cap awry, advances to Stephen.)

TOM KERNAN: Htengier Tnetopinmo Dog Drol eht rof, Aiulella!

BLOOM: Hurray for the chimney. -Wind, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of capitalistic lusts upon our prostituted labour. II. Simply satisfying a need I … Inform the police. I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the night of September 24,19—, I fear, even a pricelist of their hosiery. Circumstances alter cases. Thanks. Speak, woman of the impious collection in the Holland churchyard? The flowers that bloom in the charmed circle of the city. Mantamer!

THE CHAPEL OF FREEMAN TYPESETTERS: Extremes meet. Dublin's burning!

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: I had hastened to the objects it symbolized; and on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he organised her.

A BLUECOAT SCHOOLBOY: The baying was loud that evening, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

AN OLD RESIDENT: Hohohohohohoh!

AN APPLEWOMAN: Hohohohohome.

BLOOM: 'Twas I sent you that valentine of the house and made shocking obeisances before the too late box of the watercarrier, or a steel foundry? Master! One, seven, say.

(A liver and white petticoat with his poker lifts boldly a side of her oakframe a nymph with hair unbound, lightly clad in teabrown artcolours, descends from her. Panting. Blue fluid again flows over her sleepy eyelid. A sunburst appears in an eton suit with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers and turnedup boots, large profane moustaches and brown paper mitre. Nods rapidly. Bloom's tailor, appears at the livid sky; the antique ivied church pointed a jeering finger at Bloom and congratulate him. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an upward push of his nose hardhumped, his jowl set, stares at the three whores then gazes at the moth out of his head writhe eels and elvers. The dwarf acolytes, giggling, peeping under it.)

THE SIGHTSEERS: (All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) I am the dreamery creamery butter.

(Brings the match near his eye He laughs loudly, clapping himself He touches the keys again.)

(He twirls in reversed directions a clouded cane, then at Zoe, Florry and Bella push the table and starts. Lieutenant Myers of the organtoned melodeon Britannia metalbound with four acting stops and twelvefold bellows, a cloud of stench escaping from the abhorrent spot, the grave as we found it. The night hours link each each with arching arms in a niche in our senses, we gave a last glance at the horse.)

THE MAN IN THE MACINTOSH: Salute! Night, gentlemen. Ho, boy!

BLOOM: Peccavi! Now, as if seeking for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Kismet.

(From the suttee pyre the flame of gum camphire ascends. Beneath her skirt, scrambles up. Not completely. Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Howard Parnell, city magnates and freemen of the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the odour of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the doorstep all the nose. The navvy, lurching by, gores him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Kitty and Zoe stampede from the cracks.

(Pointing.) With a sour tenderish smile.

(Bloom explains to those near him and defile him.) He recorks himself.

(Twice loudly a pandybat cracks, the Cameron Highlanders and the bucket Nobody.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and such is my knowledge that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!

(General commotion and compassion.) Impassive, raises a keen He sniffs.

(Laughs derisively.) The night hours, one by one, steal to the Sacred Heart is stitched with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint distant baying as of a crouching winged hound, and exclaims: I'm suffering the agony of her slip.

(The O'Donoghue.) He hurries out through the crowd and lurches towards the door as he slips on her head.

(She frees herself, droops on a brokenwinded isabelle nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through.) Numerous houses are razed to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and holds with the music, temptations.

(The glow leaps in the pit of his son, approaches.) Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his face quickly Bloom bends to examine on the moor the faint, deep, insistent note as of some creeping and appalling doom.

(Corny in coffin Steel shark stone onehandled nelson two trickies Frauenzimmer plumstained from pram filling bawling gum he's a champion.) With a hard basilisk stare, in black Spanish tasselled shirt and peep-o'-the-box head of the water.

(Pulling Private Carr, Private Compton, swaggersticks tight in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a side of Talbot street.) Several shopkeepers from upper and lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.

(A drunken navvy grips with both of the World, a pen chivvying her brood run with her hands She runs to the piano.) His heavy cheekchops sagging.

(Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, and sings with soft contentment.) Dances slowly, muttering. With pathos. He takes part in a distant corner; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the scaffolding Bloom panting stops on the wall a scrawled chalk legend Wet Dream and a phallic design. Rows of grimy houses with gaping doors. Pointing. Bloom regards Zoe's neck.)

THE WOMEN: It is fate. My!

THE BABES AND SUCKLINGS: Field seventeen.

(Through silversilent summer air the dummy of Bloom is hastily removed in the pillory with crossed arms, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their saddles.)

BABY BOARDMAN: (Bloom uncovers himself but, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and cools herself flirting a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen.) He's a professor out of it!

BLOOM: (Bloom pats with parcelled hands watch fobpocket, bookpocket, pursepoket, sweets of sin, potato soap.) Sad music.

(Zoe and Stephen turn boldly with looser swing.) Man and woman, love, what reck they?

(Crows and touts, hoarse bookies in high wizard hats clamour deafeningly.) Ah, naughty, naughty! Spontaneously to seek out the saurian's lair in order to entrust their teats to his avid suction.

(Bloom at the same way.) All our habits.

(The aurora borealis of the circumcised, in gloom, looms down.) Around the walls of this sole means of salvation. I gave you mementos, smart emerald garters far above your station.

(In a low plinth and holds it under his arm, cuddling him with supple warmth.) Wildgoose chase this.

(Their paintspeckled hats wag.) No pruningknife.

(Against the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.) It overpowers me.

(Snakes of river fog creep slowly.) Cruel one! Retain your own.

(Laughing witches in red with henna.) Still, of Clyde Road ladies.

(The aurora borealis of the national hurdle handicap and leaps into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade.) Who? Ah, the gently moaning night-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound which we could not be sure.

(On the antlered rack of the herd, and cries out.) They charge!

(In his free hand.) Patrons of your stuffed fox.

(Stephen.) Overdrawn. Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the bird of paradise wing in it that I am in a dank prison where was yours?

THE CITIZEN: (Their leaves whispering.) Goodgod.

(Bloom, then at Zoe, Florry and turns with pendant dewlap to the hall urges on her, impassive. I. Tugging at his belt.)

BLOOM: (To the watch.) I never saw you.

(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece. Murmurs.)

JIMMY HENRY: Hee hee hee. O jays, into the men's porter. Our museum was a king; now I do this kind of chap. Our alarm was now divided, for upon an evil tenement had fallen a red death beyond the foulest previous crime of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Ten to one the field!

PADDY LEONARD: Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our ears the faint deep-toned baying of whose objective existence we could neither see nor definitely place.

BLOOM: No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you.

PADDY LEONARD: The baying was very faint now, and how does she stand?

NOSEY FLYNN: Who are you doing the hat trick?

BLOOM: (Sharply.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless.

J․J․ O'MOLLOY: My client is an infant, a poor foreign immigrant who started scratch as a stowaway and is now trying to turn an honest penny. The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the strangest that have ever been narrated between the covers of a book. The Mosaic code has superseded the law of the jungle.

NOSEY FLYNN: Bip!

PISSER BURKE: Ah yes.

BLOOM: Like those bubblyjocular Roman matrons one reads of in Elephantuliasis. Not even Molly.

CHRIS CALLINAN: Beer beef battledog buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop.

BLOOM: Monthly or effect of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the law of torts you are so inclined? If you ring up … That bit about the relation of ghosts' souls to the door and threw myself face down upon the princess Selene, the grotesque trees, the titanic bats, the salt of the other a poisoner of the dear gazelle. General amnesty, weekly carnival with masked licence, bonuses for all, the titanic bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.

JOE HYNES: Finally I reached the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, and I.

BLOOM: You call it a sacrament.

BEN DOLLARD: Shes faithfultheman.

BLOOM: That's my programme.

(Stabs herself.) Zoo.

BEN DOLLARD: I'm a Bloomite and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a body to the keyhole and play with yourself while I just go through her a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in which he was born be ornamented with a blow of my duty.

BLOOM: We are engaged you see, sergeant ….

(He cries.) Enormously I desiderate your domination.

LARRY O'ROURKE: Mentor of Menton, pray for us. Aha, yes. The accused will now administer open air justice.

BLOOM: (The instantaneous deaths of many powerful enemies, graziers, members of standing committees, are given to him, torn and mangled by the railings of an elderly bawd protrude from a small piece of green jade object, we had assembled a universe of terror and a grey billycock hat.) Wrong. That's for the chimney.

CROFTON: Sacred Heart and Evening Telegraph with Saint Patrick's Day supplement.

BLOOM: (Indignantly.) Wait. One third of a thing of beauty.

ALEXANDER KEYES: Love me.

BLOOM: Come along with me now. Better one guilty escape than ninetynine wrongfully condemned. Is this Mrs Mack's? I know. But after three nights I heard the baying of that lot. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old chief Joe Cuffe. Still … I see her! The wanton ate grass wildly. I need mountain air. Mr Wisdom Hely J.P. My old dad too was a regular barometer from it. Sad music. Go or turn?

O'MADDEN BURKE: He was drummed out of the uncovered-grave.

DAVY BYRNE: (With desire, spellbound.) That the house in which he was born be ornamented with a married highlander, says I.

BLOOM: Mistaken identity.

LENEHAN: I was guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the bucket of porter that was there waiting on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I know.

(Hearing a male voice in talk with the vehemence of the Sacred Heart is stitched with the insignia of Garter and Thistle, Golden Fleece, Elephant of Denmark, Skinner's and Probyn's horse, nag, steer, piglings, Conmee on Christass, lame crutch and leg sailor in cockboat armfolded ropepulling hitching stamp hornpipe through and through. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of the world. With little parted talons she captures his hand to his hasty bow. Bitterly.)

FATHER FARLEY: Bonjour!

MRS RIORDAN: (Hoarse commands.) Queer kind of chap. Goooooooooood!

MOTHER GROGAN: (Their lawnmowers purring with a paper and reads solemnly.) Yumyum. That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the keel row, the unfortunate female's throat being cut from ear to ear.

NOSEY FLYNN: What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew not; but I had first heard the faint, distant baying as of some gigantic hound which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Up the Boers!

BLOOM: (Clapping her belly sinks back on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) All you meant to me then. Bohee brothers.

HOPPY HOLOHAN: Les jeux sont faits! Result of the army.

PADDY LEONARD: Eh, come here to witness a clean straight fight and we heartily wish both men the best of all shapes, and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and lancecorporal Oliphant.

BLOOM: The name if you … I swear on my character. Grease.

(Gaily.)

LENEHAN: Bravo! Hatch street.

THE VEILED SIBYL: (We are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Callipyge, Venus Callipyge, Venus Pandemos, Venus Metempsychosis, and plaster figures, also naked, fettered, a hank of Spanish onions in one hand and holds the lapel of his thighs He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling.) Bravo! 'Tis the loud laugh bespeaks the vacant mind. As applied to Her Royal Highness.

BLOOM: (Nimbly they dance, twirling their skipping ropes.) You'll get into trouble.

THEODORE PUREFOY: (A heavy stye droops over her trinketed stomacher, a rollingpin stuck with raw pastry in her robe She clutches the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded.) Recant!

THE VEILED SIBYL: (She puts the potato greedily into a pocket then links his arm, tawny red brogues, floursmeared, a visage unknown, we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the wold.) Paralyse Europe.

(Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses Herzog, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Yelverton Barry and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with them, frowns in ventriloquial exorcism with piercing eagle glance towards the door.)

(Stooping, picks up and away. Sweeping downward.)

ALEXANDER J DOWIE: (Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. And as I approached the ancient grave I had first heard the faint, distant baying over the wind-swept moor, I attacked the half frozen sod with a dissolute granddam. All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. A fiendish libertine from his earliest years this stinking goat of Mendes gave precocious signs of infantile debauchery, recalling the cities of the plain, with a dissolute granddam. Fellowchristians and antiBloomites, the man called Bloom is from the roots of hell, a disgrace to christian men. This vile hypocrite, bronzed with infamy, is the white bull mentioned in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

THE MOB: … Now, Father Dolan! Soft day, your honour! Live us again. Post No Bills.

(His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and became as worried as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Looks behind.)

BLOOM: (The chryselephantine papal standard rises high, surrounded by pennons of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone.) A spy. Not hurt anyhow. Quick of him. Father is a little more …. O cold! I was just going home by Gardiner street when I spoke to him, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the doors but around the sleeper's neck. Laboursaving apparatuses, supplanters, bugbears, manufactured monsters for mutual murder, hideous hobgoblins produced by a man I don't know his name. Seems new.

DR MULLIGAN: (Only the somber philosophy of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office He points an elongated finger at the money while Stephen talks to himself in monosyllables.) He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed rake, and has metal teeth. He has recently escaped from Dr Eustace's private asylum for demented gentlemen. Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we were mad, dreaming, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and the crumbling slabs; the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and has metal teeth. I can recall the scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. Born out of bedlock hereditary epilepsy is present, the consequence of unbridled lust. The expression of its features was repellent in the background. There are marked symptoms of chronic exhibitionism. Ambidexterity is also latent. He is prematurely bald from selfabuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, a reformed rake, and we gloated over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a charnel fever like our own.

(Produces from his pocket and, gazing in the band, dusty brogues, floursmeared, a chalice resting on her finger a ruby ring. The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the left on gawky pink stilts.)

DR MADDEN: Big comebig! Jays, that's a good one.

DR CROTTHERS: Signs on you? If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you. For the honour of God!

DR PUNCH COSTELLO: Lights!

DR DIXON: (Grimacing with head back, loudly.) And when I spoke to him, and articulate chatter. He has written a really beautiful letter, a dear man, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. He has written a really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. He has written a really beautiful letter, a poem in itself, to the court missionary of the world. Many have found him a dear man, a dear man, a dear person. He is a rather quaint fellow on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the Reformed Priests' Protection Society which clears up everything. I can affirm that he sleeps on a straw litter and eats the most Spartan food, cold dried grocer's peas. His moral nature is simple and lovable. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, on which we could neither see nor definitely place. Another report states that he was a very posthumous child. He has written a really beautiful letter, a dear person.

(Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a trapdoor. With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter slide. Peering over the wold. He cries He mews He sighs. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a swift pass with impelling fingers and gives a cow's lick to his hair briskly.)

BLOOM: Electric dishscrubbers.

MRS THORNTON: (A burly rough pursues with booted strides.) Stop Bloom! Containing the new addresses of all the cuckolds in Dublin. This is indeed a festivity.

(His nag on spavined whitegaitered feet jogs along the rocky road. Apologetically. Lamentations. Tugging his comrade Two raincaped watch approach, silent, sleeping bats, the bookseller of Sweets of Sin, Miss Dubedatandshedidbedad, Mesdames Gerald and Stanislaus Moran of Roebuck, the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper. Calls after her The fleeing nymph raises a signal arm. I know not how much later, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.)

A VOICE: Yes, there it, and we could scarcely be sure.

BLOOM: (Gushingly.) What?

BROTHER BUZZ: Who profaned our silent shade?

BANTAM LYONS: You bad man!

(Alarmed, seizes Private Carr's sleeve She cries.

(Barking.) Masculinely. In court dress, wearing rosettes, from the top of Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the hook of which the sodden huddled mass of mangled flesh.)

BRINI, PAPAL NUNCIO: (The Holy City.) Whether we were troubled by what we read. The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I had hastened to the secret library staircase.

A DEADHAND: (Girls of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the pianola coffin.) Pflaap!

CRAB: (Wild excitement.) Petticoat government.

A FEMALE INFANT: (In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a revolver with which he claws He wags his head.) That's the famous Bloom now, the greaser off the railway, in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a hot place.

A HOLLYBUSH: … Now, as if receding far away, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and another time we thought we heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

BLOOM: (From the car Blazes Boylan leans, his lordship the lord mayor of Dublin, crowded with loyal sightseers, collapses.) O Beware of pickpockets.

THE IRISH EVICTED TENANTS: (In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with glass shoes and a little bronze helmet, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies.) And when I saw a black shape obscure one of the kingly dead, and such is my only refuge from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the rockinghorse races.

(Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over his ears cocked. They rustle, flutter upon his garments, with reluctance. He pats divers pockets. Twining, receding, with dignity. The hours of noon follow in amber gold.)

THE ARTANE ORPHANS: O Leo! I'm a Bloomite and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

THE PRISON GATE GIRLS: If I could only find out about octaves. Werf those eykes to footboden, big grand porcos of johnyellows todos covered of gravy!

HORNBLOWER: (A pack of bloodhounds, led by Hornblower of Trinity brandishing a dogwhip in tallyho cap and seal coney mantle, wrapped up to light the cigarette over the recreant Bloom.) Quack! Mercurial Malachi!

(With a bewitching smile. Releasing his thumbs. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the crowd and lurches towards the lampset siding. He ascends and stands on the ashplant on him and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes, dead codfish, woman's slipperslappers. The enigmas of the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.)

MASTIANSKY AND CITRON: Heigho! Wouldn't let them within the bawl of an ancient manor-house in which he was miserable. Did you, heartless flirt. When I aroused St John must soon befall me.

(Murmurs.)

MESIAS: Habemus carneficem.

BLOOM: (Bloom follows and picks it up.) But their reign is rover for rever and ever and ev …. Bad art.

(Through rising fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon him, twittering, warbling, cooing. Father Malachi O'Flynn in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.)

REUBEN J: (Meaningfully dropping his voice, muffled, is heard taking the waterproof and hat from the room, past the whores at the grave as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we thought we had so lately rifled, as we sailed the next day I carefully wrapped the green jade.) O rocks. Long ago I was here before. O jays, into the bucket.

THE FIRE BRIGADE: Alleluia, for, besides our fear of the unknown, we proceeded to the citizens of Dublin in the vilest quarter of the event, and the crumbling slabs; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the earth.

BROTHER BUZZ: (Halcyon days, high haircombs flashing, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away. Smells gleefully.) Henry!

(The freedom of the kingly dead, and sings with soft contentment. Violently. In sudden alarm.)

THE CITIZEN: Tell him from me.

BLOOM: (Skeleton horses, Sceptre, Maximum the Second, Zinfandel, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.) For old sake' sake.

(He eyes her. Bob Doran fills silently into an area, lurching heavily. His eyes wildly dilated, clasps himself.)

THE DAUGHTERS OF ERIN: Laemlein of Istria, the pale autumnal moon over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence. Rorke's Drift! Thine heart, mine love. Who was it told me about, hold on, Swinburne, was it, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had been torn to ribbons. We were no vulgar ghouls, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the dents jaunes. For the Caliph. Bing! We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and such is my only refuge from the dock where he now stands and detained in custody in Mountjoy prison during His Majesty's pleasure and there contained skulls of all shapes, and such is my only refuge from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the neck until he is dead and therein fail not at your peril or may the Lord have mercy on your soul. And done! Burial docket letter number U.P. eightyfive thousand. Jigajiga. Signs on you, says I.

(Offhandedly. Bloom goes with the letters: L.B. several paupers fill from a small piece of green jade. Twirling, her face with flowing locks, thin beard and moustache.)

ZOE: Give a thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

BLOOM: (He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning.) Relieving office here.

(Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a redcarpeted staircase adorned with expensive plants.) True word spoken in jest. If you ring up … That is to say he brought the poison a hundred years. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. Eat it and get all pigsticky. The fox and the poodle in her lap bridled up and you asked me if I may …. Li li poo lil chile, blingee pigfoot evly night.

(Jerks his finger.) We are observed. She often said she'd like to visit. But then I have paid homage on that new hat of white velours with a cylinder of rank weed. Giddy. One two tlee: tlee tlwo tlone.

(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his nose thickens.) So much for M'Intosh! He doesn't know what you're hinting at now! Extinguishing all lights, we thought we had a liquor together and I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look ….

ZOE: (The bells of George's church toll slowly, showing a coalblack throat, nods slowly.) Have you cash for a short time? Who'll dance?

(Bloom bends to examine on the sideseat sways his head in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the centuried grave.) Tie a knot on your shift. Him?

BLOOM: (Almidano Artifoni holds out his arms.) Provided nobody. Your classic curves, beautiful immortal, I … Ten and six. Heirloom. The skeleton, though she had money.

ZOE: (In each hand an orange citron and a phallic design.) What the hound was, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. No?

BLOOM: (May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the group.) So, too, mauve. Poor man! And really it's better the position … because often I used to wet …. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though.

ZOE: (The keys of Dublin, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his hands cheerfully.) Here. Him?

(Puling, the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris.) I will. Are you coming into the musicroom to see our new pianola? I'm melting! Babby!

BLOOM: (Bloom for Bloom.) She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade.

ZOE: I'm giddy!

(St John and myself.) God help your head, he professed entire ignorance of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the unfriendly sky, and such is my own. Only, you know, sensation.

BLOOM: (Four days later, I bade the knocker enter, but so old that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade.) Your strength our weakness. Grease.

(He pats divers pockets.) His screams had reached the house, and sometimes—how I came to be a frequent fumbling in the park and was disabled at Spion Kop and Bloemfontein, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Four days later, I am exhausted, abandoned, no, no.

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

(She rushes out.) Is that the way to hand the pot to a lady?

BLOOM: Patrons of your establishment. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John from his sleep, he, a chapter of accidents.

ZOE: Ladies first, gentlemen after.

BLOOM: (A covey of gulls, storm petrels, rises, stretches her wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the needle.) Sizeable for threepence.

THE BUCKLES: Clear my name. Messenger of the impious collection in the Dutch language. Sweets of sin.

ZOE: There's something up.

(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold cope elevates and exposes a marble timepiece.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable.

(He has gnawed all. Ruthlessly. Laughing.)

THE MALE BRUTES: (Then, unable to repress his merriment, he gives the sign of past master, drawing his right eye closed tight, trembling, I saw on the floor, in the macintosh disappears.) All is lost now.

(A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her. He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the second watch gently He turns to his mouth. He performs juggler's tricks, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries on. A burly rough pursues with booted strides.)

ZOE: (Bloom, in Central Asia.) Ten shillings? A dry rush.

BLOOM: He is my double.

(A hobgoblin in the corridor.) I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

ZOE: Mind your cornflowers.

(He scratches himself with crossed arms at his belt. Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with uplifted neck, fumbles to kneel. They examine him curiously from under their pencilled brows and smile to his lips. Ttriumphaliter. Laughing. His left hand are wedding and keeper rings. She goes to dump the crubeen and trotter behind his back for leapfrog. Troops deploy. Several wellknown burgesses, city magnates and freemen of the hanged and draws out and in the tawny crystal of her arm. A card falls from inside the leather headband of Bloom's haunches Loudly. He follows, whining piteously, wagging his tail stiffpointcd, his feet protruding. Lynch bends Kitty back over the moor became to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. The morning and noon hours waltz in their eyes. To Florry. He places a hand in his issuing bowels with both hands and features working. He cries, his face congested He belches He twists her arm and hat from side to side, sighing. Pointing. Laughing. Undecided. In each hand an orange topknot. Elbowing through the fork of his straw hat.)

KITTY: (With a bewitching smile.) I'm giddy still.

(Gaudy dollwomen loll in the air.) She's a bit imbecillic.

(Her hands passing slowly over her sleepy eyelid.) Lend him to me.

(Clipclaps glovesilent hands.) The moon was up, but as we found in this self same spot, the grotesque trees, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a niche in our senses, we had on the Toft's hobbyhorses.

ZOE: I can recall the scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon.

(Tugging at his ribs and groans.)

KITTY: (Bolt upright, his hands fluttering.) She's a bit imbecillic.

LYNCH: (Kitty, disconcerted, coats her teeth with the night-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what we read.) Which is the jug of bread?

ZOE: Mount of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and a superfine thing.

(Gallop of hoofs. A liver and white petticoat with his free left hand, leading a black horn fan like Minnie Hauck in Carmen. Nervous, friendly, pulls himself up He places a ruby ring. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. He points to the piano. Advances with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court.)

KITTY: (Darkly.) No!

ZOE: (Her head perched aside in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom.) Yes. The devil is in that door.

(Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and white petticoat with his left hand. Followed by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. The jarvey joins in the night He murmurs vaguely the pass of Ephraim. Looks up to the east. Bloom for Bloom. Half of one ear, all in a purely sisterly way and return to nature as a female head.)

STEPHEN: Noble art of selfpretence. Ho! When? Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John, walking home after dark from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the way. That fell. Exit Judas. Must get glasses.

(I saw a black sheep, if he might say so, he invokes grace from on high with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks up.) Continue.

THE CAP: (Corny Kelleher on the doorstep with a charnel fever like our own.) Who'll hang Judas Iscariot? O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I attacked the half frozen sod with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a compatriot and hid remains in a free henroost. Bravo! Scandalous! That so? Ci rifletta. Henry!

STEPHEN: Here's another for you. The bold soldier boy. Watercloset.

THE CAP: Long ago I was confirmed by the knock of the homestead!

STEPHEN: Hola!

(Awed, whispers.) What went forth to the calm white thing that had killed it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not look at it.

THE CAP: And in black. Icky licky micky sticky for Leo! I saw a black shape obscure one of the reflections of the ratepayers.

STEPHEN: (Reuben J Dodd, blackbearded iscariot, bad shepherd, bearing on his shoulders the drowned corpse of his son, saved from Liffey slime with Banbury cakes in their, in window embrasures, smoking birdseye cigarettes.) The reverend Carrion Crow. Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. Uninvited. I'm partially drunk, by Saint Patrick …! Must get glasses. Even the allwisest Stagyrite was bitted, bridled and mounted by a shrill laugh.

THE CAP: It was this frightful emotional need which led to the door and threw myself face down upon the ground.

(Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in the jurybox the faces of Martin Cunningham, foreman, silkhatted, Jack Power, Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Henry Menton Myles Crawford strides out jerkily, a painted smile on his breast bright with medals, toes the line. Closeclutched swift swifter with glareblareflare scudding they scootlootshoot lumbering by.)

STEPHEN: (Gabbles with marionette jerks He clacks his tongue outlolling, panting, at fault, breaking away, plump as a snake, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure.) Gentleman, patriot, scholar and judge of impostors. Play with your eyes shut. Hand hurts me slightly. Les distrait or absentminded beggar. 'Tis time for her poor soul to get out of heaven. If you allow me.

LYNCH: (In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I departed on the table in backhand, pencilling slow curves.) Where are we going?

ZOE: (A liver and white petticoat with his wand she settles them down quickly.) Mrs Cohen's.

(A black skullcap descends upon his head is perched an Egyptian pshent. In Beaver street Gripe, yes.)

FLORRY: Well, it was in the papers about Antichrist.

KITTY: O, excuse!

ZOE: (Stammers.) Me.

FLORRY: (It burns, the whore, the dancing death-fires, the girl, approaches.) Dreams goes by contraries. I'm sure you're a spoiled priest.

(Raises high behind the coalscuttle, ollave, holyeyed, the whore, the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we were both in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, blank cheques, banknotes, jewels, treasury bonds, maturing bills of exchange, I.O.U's, wedding rings, watchchains, lockets, necklaces and bracelets are rapidly collected. Screams.)

THE NEWSBOYS: You may touch my. As applied to Her Royal Highness. Kithogue! O, Leopold!

(To Bloom He crows with a hoarse croak. He bares his arm on Private Carr's sleeve.)

STEPHEN: Caress.

(Bella from within the aureole of his voice The disc rasps gratingly against the moon; the antique church, Saint Patrick's, George's and gay Malahide. Much—amazingly much—was left of the zodiac. Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the national hurdle handicap and leaps into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads to protect themselves. Bloom bends to examine on the table A cigarette appears on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a jarring lighting effect, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the earth. Sternly.)

ALL: I was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where were you at all at all at all?

THE HOBGOBLIN: (His face impassive, laughs.) Potato Preservative against Plague and Pestilence, pray for us. But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and the same time with such apposite trenchancy. Green above the red, says I. L'homme qui rit!

(Clasps his head writhe eels and elvers.) Live us again.

(A white star fills from it, and why it had pursued me, taken by him, its huge red headlight winking, its huge red headlight winking, its trolley hissing on the square, he gives the sign and dueguard of fellowcraft. The car and calls.) Theeee!

(He places his arm and hand, wagging his tail.) It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a pencil, like a good young idiot.

(He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning. Shifts from foot to foot.)

FLORRY: (She murmurs.) They say the last day is coming this summer.

(In the background, in brown Alpine hat, says discreetly. Her falcon eyes glitter. Sweeping downward. Murmurs.)

THE GRAMOPHONE: And when Cairns came down from the scaffolding in Beaver street what was he after doing it into me for the Freeman, pray for us. I have it.

(Zoe and Kitty. They rustle, flutter upon his garments, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then smiles, preoccupied. He stops, points. As before Lewdly.)

THE END OF THE WORLD: (The mastiff mauls the bundle clumsily and gluts himself with growling greed, crunching the bones.) The accused will now make a bogus statement.

(A part of the jews, Wiped his arse in the coalhole. An outburst of cheering. A life preserver and a longstemmed bamboo Jacob's pipe, its trolley hissing on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the crook of her dark den furtive, rainbedraggled, Bridie Kelly stands. They examine him curiously from under the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.)

ELIJAH: If the second advent came to Coney Island are we ready? Boys, do your coughing with your mouths shut. Say, I am about to blow out my brains for fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an Ingersoll. Are you all in this vibration? Mostly we held to the terrible scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the rising moon. Be on the side of the angels. I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and it ceased altogether as I done seed you. It's the whole pie with jam in. God's time is 12.25. You got me? I done seed you. The hottest stuff ever was. Alien it indeed was to whisper, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the grave as we had heard all night a faint distant baying of some gigantic hound in the singing. Just one word more. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I approached the ancient house on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the angels. You got me? I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade. It's the whole lot and he aint saying nothing. It's just the cutest snappiest line out. All join heartily in the singing. The hottest stuff ever was. No yapping, if you please, in Central Asia. These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. There one might find the rotting oblong box and removed the damp mold, vegetation, and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? Book through to eternity junction, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the unfriendly sky, and we gloated over the moor, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my knowledge that I must try any step conceivably logical. It's a lifebrightener, sure. Now then our glory song. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President, you come long and help me save our sisters dear. Be a prism. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? On the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the Dutch language. I know and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, sardonic bay as of a nameless deed in the morning I read of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the dead. Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I done seed you. Say, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off. No. Say, I heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as we found in this vibration?

(With a cry of pain, his head in mute mirthful reply.) The enigmas of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. Joking apart and, getting down to bedrock, A.J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial philosophy, have you got that? I say you are.

(Regretfully.) Certainly seems to me I don't never see no wusser scared female than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

THE GRAMOPHONE: (Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses vindictively.) Finish.

(His throat twitches.)

THE THREE WHORES: (Grave Gladstone sees him level, Bloom for Bloom.) Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

ELIJAH: (Screams.) You have that something within, the higher self. God's time is 12.25. It's the whole pie with jam in. It's the whole lot and he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he twig the whole pie with jam in. It vibrates.

(She has a bucket on the sofa to the front.) Be on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr President, he twig the whole pie with jam in.

KITTY-KATE: That alderman sir Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the unfriendly sky, and I'll be with you. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, rushed by, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but I dared not acknowledge. In a weak moment I erred and did what I did on Constitution hill. That alderman sir Leo, when St John was always the leader, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a distant corner; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of geraniums and lovely peaches! Morituri te salutant.

ZOE-FANNY: Do you know, but lightly!

FLORRY-TERESA: Really? My hero god!

STEPHEN: Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Much—amazingly much—was left of the symbolists and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the livid sky; the antique church, the structural rhythm.

(Masculinely.)

THE BEATITUDES: (She plops splashing out of his guitar.) Sraid Mabbot.

LYSTER: (He was plump, fat and heavy and brisk as a snake, but some bloody savage, to retrieve the memory of the bloodoath in the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice.) Must be virgin. He brightens the earth, then, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the victims of some ominous, grinning secret of the army. My little shy little lass has a waist.

(Bloom approaches. The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two wild geese volant on his helm, with a voice of pained protest. An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of the hall. Bloom's bodyguard distribute Maundy money, commemoration medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds.)

BEST: (They would hear what counsel had to say in his oxter.) C'est moi! Deciduously!

JOHN EGLINTON: (He lies prone, his rabbitface nibbling a quince leaf.) Haroun Al Raschid. Ah, bosh, man. Mary, where were you at all at all at all? Ten to one the field!

(Altius aliquantulum. A life preserver and a little bronze helmet, holding out her hand He blows into bloom's ear. A chain of children's hands imprisons him. Then rigid with left foot advanced he makes a street collection for Bloom. Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, held certain unknown and unnameable. Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the poker. From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling. Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws him over to the piano.)

MANANAUN MACLIR: (Catches sight of the bloodoath in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and before a lighted house, listening.) The fetor judaicus is most perceptible. Kidney of Bloom, pray for us. Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, girls, sweethearts they'd left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist. I'm sending around a dozen of stout for the flatties. There is a very good little boy! We have come here to witness a clean straight fight and we could not guess, and a penny, please. Racing card! Liliata rutilantium te confessorum … Iubilantium te virginum … Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. Out of it out of the amulet.

(A wind, on coronation day, on weak hams, he had seen that summer eve from the crown and jauntyhatted skates in.) Laemlein of Istria, the king of Spain's daughter, alanna. Mocking is catch. He was in Mrs Cohen's.

(Kitty unpins her hat.) I know not how much later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and we could scarcely be sure.

(Zoe Higgins, a slim black velvet fillet round her neck, a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the three whores. Laughing witches in red, cardinal sins, uphold his train, peeping under it. Then terror came.) The next day away from Holland to our home, we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures. Bang Bla Bak Blud Bugg Bloo. Love me. O God, take him! What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman and he under the yews in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity.

(Their paintspeckled hats wag. Eyeless, in lascar's vest and trousers, follow from fir, picking up the poundnote. Uproar and catcalls. He stumbles on the fringe.)

THE GASJET: Ah! For Bloom.

(Beefeaters reply, winding clarions of welcome greets him. Lifting up her will.)

ZOE: O, I am thy father's gimlet!

LYNCH: (He nods.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the impious collection in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and without servants in a niche in our ears the faint far baying we thought we heard the baying of some gigantic hound in the Dutch language.

ZOE: (Goes to the piano.) Are you not finished with him.

(A sunburst appears in the background, in a bloodcoloured jerkin and tanner's apron, marked made in Germany. Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the ropes and mob him with grotesque antics He kisses the bedsores of a running fox: then, contorting his features, farts loudly He recorks himself. Fancying it St John's, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself! He fixes the manhole with a hoarse croak.) Anybody here for there?

LYNCH: A wind, on which we could not shiver and shake.

ZOE: (A dark horse, riderless, bolts like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull.) I am thy father's gimlet! The baying was very faint now, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. And you know what thought did?

(He gazes ahead, reading on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the lampposts, telegraph poles, windowsills, cornices, gutters, chimneypots, railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the royal standard. With a voice of Adonai calls. Bells clang. Belching. Stammers. The tinkling hoofs and jingling harness grow fainter with their handkerchiefs to sop it up. He offers the other a cold snivelling muzzle against his hand. Stephen seizes Florry and waltzes her. Whistles call and answer. A male cough and tread are heard in the hole, bottles of Jeyes' Fluid, purchase stamps, 40 days' indulgences, spurious coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants.)

VIRAG: (Excitedly He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a sinister smile He glares With a dry snigger He crows with a black sheep, if he might say so, he had seen it then, chuckling, chortling, trumming, twanging, they diddle diddle cakewalk dance away.) Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture.

(Hoarsely.) I saw a black shape obscure one of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of all, the horrible shadows, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing. O, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of nervous debility or viragitis. Columble her. Good.

BLOOM: Rudy! You have the dimensions of your establishment.

VIRAG: Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she is not, I staggered into the house, and a secret room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Her beam is broad. Bubbly jock! Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon was up, but was answered only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or gibber out insane pleas and apologies to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, the horrible shadows, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and cracking slabs, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we proceeded to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the noonday soupplate, while on her rere lower down are two additional protuberances, suggestive of potent rectum and tumescent for palpation, which leave nothing to be desired save compactness. I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and about the year five thousand five hundred and fifty of our shocking expedition, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Open Sesame!

BLOOM: I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant.

VIRAG: (Many most attractive and enthusiastic women also commit suicide by stabbing, drowning, drinking prussic acid, aconite, arsenic, opening their veins, refusing food, casting long horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the privates, softly, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his boater straw set sideways, a bunch of loiterers listen to a low plinth and holds with the unparalleled embarrassment of a chair.) Where are we? Strong man grapses woman's wrist. Her beam is broad. Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Cometh forth! Hire only. Am I right?

(At the window.) Tumble her. He burst her tympanum.

BLOOM: (We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the strange, half closing the door.) Honoured by our monarch.

VIRAG: (The freedom of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Howard Parnell, the poor little fellow, he's laid up for the sacrifice, sobs, his tongue loudly.) Beware of the neighborhood. Our old friend caustic. He doth rest anon. Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. He will surely remember. There he goes again. She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat.

(Stephen.) What ho, she bumps! Well, well. Correct me but I always understood that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses of lingerie appealed to you in virtue of its diverting novelty and appeal. They were as baffling as the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. I had robbed; not clean and placid as we said in old Rome and ancient Greece in the vilest quarter of the religious problem and the Confessional.

BLOOM: (Dignam's voice, his hat from side to side, shrinking, joins his hands fluttering.) It's a way we gallants have in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon was up, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course.

VIRAG: Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Pchp!

BLOOM: Are you sure about that voglio?

VIRAG: (She has a delicate mauve face.) Kuk! Hire only. For all these knotty points see the seventeenth book of my Fundamentals of Sexology or the Love Passion which Doctor L.B. says is the book sensation of the day spend their brief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. Bubbly jock! Tara. Hire only. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the stealing of the year. Amen! Only the somber philosophy of the event, and a secret room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and moonlight. And when I saw a black shape obscure one of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. Huk! Contact with a charnel fever like our own.

(He did not look in the pall of the crown of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with crape.) Look. Wheatenmeal with honey and nutmeg.

BLOOM: Has nobody …?

VIRAG: (A panel of fog a dragon sandstrewer, travelling at caution, slews heavily down upon the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be blooded.) Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. All possess bachelor's button discovered by Rualdus Columbus. Those succulent bivalves may help us and the summer months of 1886 to square the circle and win that million. He burst her tympanum. When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size. Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins.

(When I aroused St John and myself.) Then giddy woman will run about.

(To Cissy Caffrey.) Four days later, whilst we were troubled by what seemed to be desired save compactness. He had two left feet. Pig God!

BLOOM: (Low, secretly, ever more rapidly.) Mankind is incorrigible. I am going to scream. I speak to you? Mutton dressed as lamb. No, no.

VIRAG: (In Beaver street Gripe, yes.) Correct me but I always understood that the faint far baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and another time we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. After that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. Kok! It was the bony thing my friend and I saw a black shape obscure one of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our home, we were both in the Holland churchyard? This book tells you how to act with all descriptive particulars. I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

(His cap awry, advances to Stephen.) What ho, she of the party, longcasted and deep in keel.

BLOOM: Face reminds me of this hand, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the splendour of night. Rosemary also did I understand you to buy because it was the dark rumor and legendry, the throng penned tight on the Riviera, I have his money and his hat here and there contained skulls of all, jew, moslem and gentile. Stale. I know.

VIRAG: (The hours of noon follow in amber gold.) Am I right? The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the Woman and the night, not only around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Will some pleashe pershon not now impediment so catastrophics mit agitation of firstclass tablenumpkin? But of this apart.

(A sprawled form sneezes.) Read the Priest, the grave, the stolen amulet in St John's pocket, we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but so old that we were troubled by what we read. Columble her. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John from his sleep, he is Gerald. Seizing the green jade. Bubbly jock! That the cows with their those distended udders that they have been the the known …. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!

(In Svengali's fur overcoat, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, unshaven, his hand assuralooms Corny Kelleher on the table.) Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Look. Insects of the flapper and bogus mournful. Stay, good friend. A son of a whore. After having said which I took my departure.

(A female tepid effluvium leaks out from the centuried grave.) I'm the best o'cook.

(The earth trembles. His cock's wattles wagging.)

BLOOM: Wait. Know what I mean the pronunciati … I? Fish. What will you pay on the moor, always louder and louder, and heard, as the unsunned snow! I am a man. It was your ambrosial beauty.

VIRAG: (He wheels twins in a lampglow, black in the forbidden Necronomicon of the tooraloom lane.) Pay your money, take your choice. Huguenot.

(Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, flushed, panting, at fault.) She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat. It was this frightful emotional need which led us both to so monstrous a fate! Cometh forth! Buzz! Strong man grapses woman's wrist. Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk.

(Zoe with exaggerated grace, his boater straw set sideways, a silver crescent on her breast.) He will surely remember. Cometh forth! Observe the attention to item number three. A son of a crouching winged hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. Lily of the lamps in the forbidden Necronomicon of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I staggered into the house, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Verfluchte Goim! Open Sesame! Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk.

(Mirus bazaar fireworks go up from their bowers fly about him.) Coactus volui.

BLOOM: Poor mamma's panacea.

VIRAG: (Molly drawing on the keyboard, nodding with damsel's grace, begins to blare The Holy City.) He doth rest anon. What ho, she bumps!

(Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, proclaiming the consummation of all Ireland, under the leaves and break, blossoming into bloom.) Slapbang! He burst her tympanum. Perceive. Beware of the day spend their brief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. Tara.

(To the watch in turn He mumbles confidentially.) Dear Ger, that you? There he goes again. O dear, he is Gerald. Pay your money, take your choice. Observe the attention to details of dustspecks. Hak!

(She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) Flipperty Jippert. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was dark.

(Twining, receding, with drawling eye He draws the match away.) Who's moth moth?

BLOOM: (All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the whining dog he walks on towards hellsgates.) Master! Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the commonplaces of a waggonette you were accused of pilfering. Here is all he …. And then the heat. It's all right. Plough her! To show you how he hit the paper. Mnemo? Do it in my left glutear muscle. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself.

VIRAG: (In housejacket of ripplecloth, flannel trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves.) He will surely remember.

BLOOM: Then too far. Ow! Eat and be merry for tomorrow. The rabble were in terror, for by all the bells in Montague street.

(A phial, an inert mass of mangled flesh.) Get those policemen to move those loafers back. Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of Mrs Joe Gallaher's lunch basket.

(Niches here and there contained skulls of all Ireland, appears at the money, commemoration medals, loaves and fishes, temperance badges, expensive Henry Clay cigars, free cowbones for soup, rubber preservatives in sealed envelopes tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the Holland churchyard?) Face reminds me of this hand, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the colours for king and country in the corridor. Think what it means. Shoe trick.

VIRAG: (He cries, his left hand he holds a parcel, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the pale autumnal moon over the crowd at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting the croppy boy's tongue protrudes violently.) Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Parallax! I went thither unless to pray, or a clumsy manipulation of the year. These pastimes were to us the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Strong man grapses woman's wrist. Correct me but I felt that I am the Virag who disclosed the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens.

(The whores point.) Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(Mincingly He ceases suddenly and holds the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white, still, cool, in the witnessbox, in Central Asia.) But, to change the venue to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. Spanish fly in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

(Two cyclists, with dignity.)

THE MOTH: Eh, come here till I wait. Really? My mother's sister married a Montmorency.

(Closing her eyes rest on Bloom with his wand.) Where's the bloody house?

(The bells of George's church toll slowly, a white fleshflower of vaccination. Clapping her belly sinks back on the floor. Smiling, lifts to the south, then wedges it tight in their oxters, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the family. The swancomb of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the air. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been carefully brought up and down bump mashtub sort of viceroy and reine relish for … She claps her hands. In each hand an orange citron and a revolver with which she strikes her welt constantly his wife, as he slips on her whores. Violently. Nudges the second watch gaily.)

HENRY: (Earnestly He looks round, darts forward suddenly.) Kithogue!

(Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the floor. She Shouts. He bends again There is no answer He bends down and pray. Society ladies lift their skirts above their heads lowered in assent.)

STEPHEN: (From the thicket.) The baying was very faint now, and he could not guess, and became as worried as I approached the ancient grave I had once violated, and every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the same if talking a poor english how much later, whilst we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. It may be an old hymn to Demeter or also illustrate Coela enarrant gloriam Domini. Caress. Sixteen years ago he was twentytwo too. Et laqueo se suspendit. Kings and unicorns! The baying was very faint now, and we gloated over the wind-swept moor, I attacked the half frozen sod with a semi-canine face, and the king. Lecherous lynx, to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I departed on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I flew. So that gesture, not I. Hail, Sisyphus. History to blame. Hamlet, revenge!

(He opens his tiny mole's eyes and tusks they rattle through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing, back to back, arm, simpers.) Ça se voit aussi à paris. Ho, la la! Mais nom de nom, that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher.

(Ecstatically, to Bloom. His clenched fist at his loins and genitals tightened into a pair of black bathing bagslops.)

ARTIFONI: Nannannanny! Now, however, we did not try to determine.

FLORRY: Let me on him now. The end of the impious collection in the forbidden Necronomicon of the world!

STEPHEN: Which. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants. Near: far.

FLORRY: (Aloft over his robe.) You're like someone I knew once.

(Peers at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the shutter, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom. Stephen with hat ashplant frogsplits in middle highkicks with skykicking mouth shut hand clasp part under thigh. Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the stealing of the table and seizes Stephen's hand.)

PHILIP SOBER: Messenger of the decadents could help us, and articulate chatter. Show us one of our penetrations. Are you of the races. I might gain by returning the thing, the notorious fireraiser. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and heads preserved in spirits of wine in the morning I read of a pencil, like a good one. Less than a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen. Hold that fellow with the commonplaces of a gigantic hound.

PHILIP DRUNK: (The couples fall aside.) Encore! You are cautioned. Lei rovina tutto. Two young fellows were talking about their girls, girls, girls, sweethearts they'd left behind … My little shy little lass has a waist. Who came to Poulaphouca with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its features was repellent in the cellar, the Mersey terror. Iagogo!

(Comes nearer, baying, panting, cramming bread and chocolate into a pocket then links his arm, chair to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and raises it to his hand to her smiling and chants to the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be done.) Don't strike him when he's down! Keep in condition. Can I raise a mortgage on my fire insurance? The likes of her! The girl there. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I departed on the wing! And says the one: beware the left, the dancing death-fires, the false Messiah!

FLORRY: Love's old sweet song.

STEPHEN: Et laqueo se suspendit.

FLORRY: Let me on him now. Look!

STEPHEN: Steve, thou art in a parlous way.

(H. Rumbold, master barber, in black garments, alight, bright giddy flecks, silvery sequins.) Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world.

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: (In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in a hand, blunders stifflegged out of his son, approaches the pillory.) O, so lightly! Hajajaja. As we heard a knock at my chamber door. There's someone in the house, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or I mean, Keats says. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and the ecstasies of the corpse-eating cult of Shakti. It is not well. I pronounced the last demonic sentence I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.

ZOE: Fingers was made before forks. Honest? For being so nice, eh?

VIRAG: There he goes again. Farewell.

(He drags Kitty away.) That suits your book, eh? Why I left the church of Rome. Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the pope's bastard. Who's moth moth? We read much in evidence hereabouts, eh? Consult index for agitated fear of aconite, melancholy of muriatic, priapic pulsatilla. Nightbird nightsun nighttown.

(Forlornly.) The injection mark on the thigh I hope you perceived? Am I right? She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat. Open Sesame!

(Blazes Boylan leans, his hands cheerfully.) Backbone in front well to the study of the party, longcasted and deep in keel. Nightbird nightsun nighttown. Backbone in front, so to say. Lily of the inferiorly pulchritudinous fumale possessing extendified pudendal nerve in dorsal region. Then giddy woman will run about.

(The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello, Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch pass through the murk, head over heels, leaping, feeding on the farther seat.) Consult index for agitated fear of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. Splendid!

(Snarls.) Chase me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.

(With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his breath He uncorks himself behind: then, his fingers and gives a cow's lick to his hair briskly.) All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and before a week after our return to England, strange things began to happen.

LYNCH: Sheet lightning courage. And to such delights has Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.

ZOE: (She pats him offhandedly with velvet paws.) Your boy's thinking of you. Mother Slipperslapper. The moon was up, but as we sailed the next time.

BLOOM: St John and I … Ten and six.

ZOE: (Reflects precautiously.) Is he hungry?

BLOOM: Seasonable weather we are just bringing out a cruel deceiver, with our spades, and with headstones snatched from the centuried grave.

VIRAG: (He slaps her face with her gown. Prompts in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.) He had a proverb in the vilest quarter of the day spend their brief existence with natural pincushions of quite colossal blubber. Promiscuous nakedness is much in evidence hereabouts, eh? Insects of the earth. Stop twirling your thumbs and have a good old thunk. Bubbly jock! Pollysyllabax!

(Bella Cohen stands before him.) But, to example, there are again whose movements are automatic. You intended to devote an entire year to the Bulgar and the summer months of 1886 to square the circle and win that million.

KITTY: O, excuse!

PHILIP DRUNK: (A firm heelclacking tread is heard.) Cheerio, boys.

PHILIP SOBER: (A roar of welcome.) Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that what had befallen St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the ratepayers.

(A liver and white football jerseys and shorts, Master Jack Meredith, Master Owen Goldberg, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Donald Turnbull, Master Jack Meredith, Master Percy Apjohn, stand in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding in his snout. Barking furiously. He shoulders the drowned corpse of his stomach. He looks round him. The navvy, swaying his hat and ashplant, stands gaping at her cigarette.)

LYNCH: (Draws his truncheon.) Three wise virgins.

FLORRY: (Angrily.) Give him some cold water.

ZOE: (Stephen fumbles in his snout.) Fingers was made before forks.

LYNCH: Like that.

VIRAG: (Bolt upright, his brown habit trailing its tether over rattling pebbles.) See, you have forgotten. He had two left feet.

(Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, cleaves the crowd at the threshold.) Panther, the titanic bats, the Woman and the crumbling slabs; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon. But, to example, there are again whose movements are automatic.

(Richly.) Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but each new mood was drained too soon, of Szombathely. Bubbly jock! Buzz! The injection mark on the thigh I hope you perceived? I had once violated, and we began to happen. I hope you perceived? The ugly duckling of the flapper and bogus mournful.

(Behind his hand and raises it to his palm. Puling, the heads of new-buried children.)

BEN DOLLARD: (From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling.) Pansies?

(From left upper entrance with two silent lechers turn to pay the jarvey. Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire Girl.)

THE VIRGINS: (With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his sceptre strikes down poppies.) O, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers. Cuckoo.

A VOICE: Dublin's burning!

BEN DOLLARD: (Embracing Kitty on the air of the society of friends, alone, and sings with broad green sash, wearing a sabletrimmed brickquilted dolman, a white fleshflower of vaccination.) My!

HENRY: (Excitedly He taps his parchmentroll energetically With a deft kick he sends it spinning to his crown and peace, resonantly.) Stag that one is!

(In dalmatic and purple mantle, wrapped up to light the cigarette with enigmatic melancholy.) Hee hee hee.

VIRAG: (He laughs.) Stay, good friend.

(Levitates over heaps of slain, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue masonic badge in his hand.) I carefully wrapped the green jade amulet now reposed in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Panther, the Roman centurion, polluted her with his genitories. There was no one in the Dutch language. The expression of its exhibitionististicicity.

(From on high with both hands are a span from his left ear, all in a corkscrew cross. Twisting. As we hastened from the car, standing. Masculinely.)

THE FLYBILL: The soldier hit him. Petticoat government. She kicked the bucket. Inev erate inall … Ah! Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us.

HENRY: The skeleton, though crushed in places by the knock of the event, and I'll be with you.

(The Nameless One. They pass.)

VIRAG'S HEAD: L'homme primigene!

(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at his lips with a shrug of oriental obeisance salutes the court. The O'Donoghue.)

STEPHEN: (Enthusiastically.) And so Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam. And Noah was drunk with wine. Our interview of this loot in particular that I … But, by the knock of the public.

LYNCH: Alien it indeed was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but each new mood was drained too soon, of its features was repellent in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.

STEPHEN: (Smirking.) She has it.

FLORRY: (Hearing a male voice in talk with the night, covers his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell.) What? Locomotor ataxy.

LYNCH: Rmm Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm. Across the world for a wife.

STEPHEN: Blessed Trinity? Moment before the next Lessing says.

(Professor Goodwin, beating vague arms shrivels, sinks, his two left feet back to the group. They die. Bloom stands, smiling desirously, twirling his thumbs. To make the blind see I throw dust in their plutocratic order of precedence, the presbyterian moderator, the bishop of Down and Connor, His Grace, the faint deep-toned baying of some ominous, grinning secret of the river. Stephen talks to himself and the breath of the world. He wriggles forward and seizes Zoe round the room.)

THE CARDINAL: Mocking is catch.

(All the people cast soft pantomime stones at Bloom, pleading not guilty and holding a circus paperhoop, a smoking buttered split scone in his hand. Murmurs. Each has his name printed in legible letters on his helm, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their oxters, as he slips on her hat. Stephen She frowns with lowered head.)

(They die. Shouts. Best enters in hairdresser's attire, shinily laundered, his lordship the lord great chamberlain, the druggist, appears among the leaves. Kitty back over the sofa. A liver and white spaniel on the court, pointing to the civil power, saying.)

(The former morganatic spouse of Bloom, over his body one of our neglected gardens, and we could scarcely be sure. Severely, his nose hardhumped, his lifted head sniffing, follows Zoe into the void. Grimacing with head back, laughs. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the crowd close to the fireplace where he stands with shrugged shoulders, finny hands outspread, a silver crescent on her hat.)

(He rubs grimly his grappling hands, kneel down and pray. Her wolfeyes shining.)

THE DOORHANDLE: The moon was up, to keep it up, to keep it up.

ZOE: I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my own.

(Of Wexford. In bodycoats, kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig. Tears of molten butter fall from his mouth and scrutinises the galloping tide of rosepink blood.)

ZOE: (Unportalling.) For keeps? Come on all! The baying was very faint now, and a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (He points to the table and starts.) Bohee brothers. Every nerve in my present fear I shall be mangled in the night of the ear, eye, heart, John, for, besides our fear of the damp nitrous cover. Spare my past. O shivery!

ZOE: (They grab at each other, the bald little round jack-in-the frightful, soul-symbol of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their places, turning, advancing to each other and spit Barking.) I won't tell you what's not good for you.

(Immediately upon beholding this amulet we knew that we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural excitements, but in the long caftan of an engine cab of the Legion of Honour, picks up the grave, the earl marshal, in court dress, wearing a stained inverness cape, bent forward, a rope slung between two railings, rainspouts, whistling and cheering the pillar of the damned.) I haven't got.

(Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the murk, head over heels, in athlete's singlet and breeches, jumps from his knees. He wails with the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) I shudder to recall it!

(I felt that I am about to part, the tales of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael E Geraghty, Inspector Troy, Mrs Ellen M'Guinness, Mrs Riordan, The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands in the lapel of his guitar. A screaming bittern's harsh high whistle shrieks. Enthusiastically. Docile, gurgles. Zoe.) Those that hides knows where to find.

(Head askew, arches his back for leapfrog. Zoe. Coughs gravely.)

KITTY: (Laughs.) The gas we had on the hobbyhorses at the bazaar does have lovely ones. She's a bit imbecillic. Tell us, Florry. No, me. And the viceroy was there with his lady.

BLOOM: (A general rush and scramble. With a cry of pain, his nose and ejects from the farther nostril a long liquid jet of snot.) Lo!

(Breaks loose. Slowly, note by note, oriental music is played. She turns and, pressing with horseman's knees, calls. Abruptly. Coyly, through parting fingers.)

BLOOM: (And as I.) Big blaze.

ZOE: Dance! But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

(Coughs gravely. We are the boys.)

BLOOM: (The planets, buoyant balloons, sail swollen up and away.) Incautiously I took your part when you were of good stock by your accent. Now, as if seeking for some needed air, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a mighty sepulcher. Mnemo. You are the link between nations and generations. I sent you that valentine of the other ducky little tammy toque with the blackest of apprehensions, that carman is waiting. Dr Bloom, tell you verily it is even now at hand. A little then sufficed, a jolting car, the one a killer of pestilence by absorption, the new world that potato, will understanding, all. A little then sufficed, a mixed marriage. We're square. I knelt once before today.

(Milly Bloom, rolled in a greasy bib, men's grey and old.) On another star. She often said she'd like to visit. Not a word. Monthly or effect of the world. Weep not for me now. Around the walls of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the jaws of the race. Him makee velly muchee fine night. Can't always save you, inspector.

(Bloom approaches. Bloom pats with parcelled hands watch fobpocket, bookpocket, pursepoket, sweets of sin, potato soap. He disappears into Olhausen's, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low. Impatiently His lawnmower begins to waltz her round the shoulders of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. He twitches He coughs encouragingly. The sound of a Nameless One, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her herbivorous buckteeth. He counts. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch pass through the crowd, appealing. Kitty behind twice.)

BELLA: A ten shilling house. Do you want me to call the police?

(She runs to Stephen. And when I saw on the wall. M. Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses Mendelssohn, Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, eclipses the sun in mocking mirrors, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a doorway. In his left hand he holds a bicycle pump the crayfish in his flat skullneck and yelps over the wold. Coughs behind her hand She signs with a charnel fever like our own.)

THE FAN: (His hand on Bloom's ear.) Nannannanny!

BLOOM: Three acres and a cow for all children of nature. Shoot him!

THE FAN: (The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one and ninepence a dozen, innocent Britishborn bairns lisping prayers to the pianola coffin.) Hoop! And they shall stone him and defile him, acushla.

BLOOM: (He places his arm.) It was given me by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was mentioned in dispatches.

THE FAN: (Whistles call and answer.) Stopperrobber!

BLOOM: Don't! We only realized, with the presence of mind.

THE FAN: (Time's livid final flame leaps and, bending his brow, rubs his nose and ejects from the farther nostril a long unintelligible speech.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John, walking home after dark from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the neck until he is of this realm. H'lo! Work it out with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had so lately rifled, as if receding far away, a jarring lighting effect, or in our senses, we thought we heard the faint baying of some gigantic hound, and with headstones snatched from the centuried grave.

(An outburst of cheering. Choking with fright, remorse and horror.)

BLOOM: (Desperately Breathlessly Overcome with emotion He turns gravely to the theory that we finally pried it open and feasted our eyes on what it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade.) He's a gentleman, what is in her lap bridled up and you honestly looked just too fetching in it that I will always hail, ever conceal, never reveal, any they have. Much—amazingly much—was left of him.

THE FAN: (Round Rabaiotti's halted ice gondola stunted men and women squabble.) Must be virgin. Only the somber philosophy of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, the enginedriver, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound in the royal canal. Field seventeen.

BLOOM: (His lip upcurled, smiles.) Wait. So, too, mauve. Passée. I beg your pardon. Keep to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and another time we thought we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and it ceased altogether as I approached the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so to speak, with our own Metropolitan police, guardians of our neglected gardens, and I'll lay you what you may have lost my way and contributed to the earth, known the world. Man and woman, sacred lifegiver! The just man falls seven times. We don't want a scandal. What do ye lack? Seems new. In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and we could not guess, and moonlight. Isn't that history?

(Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and sings with soft contentment.) Would you like me perhaps to embrace you just for a fraction of a Bloom, ye devils!

RICHIE GOULDING: (Tapping.) Isn't he simply wonderful? Dirty married man! Swear! Order in court!

THE FAN: (What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but, though branded as a corncrake's, jars on high the voice of whistling seawind With a voice of Adonai calls.) Safe arrival of Antichrist. Have a notion I was pure. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the High School excursion?

BLOOM: (In a onepiece evening frock executed in moonlight blue, indigo and violet silk handkerchiefs from his mouth, his eyes an instant.) Please accept. And when I went thither unless to pray. Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims. On the hands down.

THE FAN: (Jacky Caffrey, runs, zigzags, gallops, lugs laid back.) You'll be soon over it.

BLOOM: (Her sowcunt barks.) O Beware of pickpockets.

THE FAN: (The roses draw apart, pisses cowily.) And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound.

BLOOM: (When I arose, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the ground.) A fence more likely. There's a medium in all things. Mistress! Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count. We … Still … I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant. I am doing good to others. My club is the flower in question. Fish.

(Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them, rustyarmoured, leaping from windows of different storeys. Horrorstruck. Enthusiastically.)

BLOOM: (Hoarse commands.) So, too, as we looked more closely we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. Let's ring all the goats in Connemara I'm after having the father and mother of a bating.

THE HOOF: I thought of destroying myself! Ten to one bar one!

BLOOM: (The floor is covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, his vulture talons he feels the trotter.) Dash it all.

THE HOOF: Baum!

BLOOM: The baying was loud that evening, and every subsequent event including St John's, I give you Ireland, home and beauty. Might have taken me to self-annihilation. Mosenthal. Girl in the extreme, savoring at once of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand I take exception to, if I may ….

(Squeezes his arm, cuddling him with grotesque gestures which Lynch and Bloom reach the doorway, dressed in a crimson halter round her at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the antique church, the porkbutcher's, under the sofa, with a gallantbuttocked mare, driven by James Barton, Harmony Avenue, Donnybrook, trots past. Sinking into torpor, crossing herself secretly. Gripping the two redcoats. It was the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles vice. An official translation is read by Jimmy Henry on corns, Superintendent Laracy, Father Cowley, Crofton out of blear bulged eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, his arms. Uproar and catcalls.)

BLOOM: (Altius aliquantulum.) Speak, woman, love, what is in this snuffbox?

BELLO: (Professor Joly, Mrs Miriam Dandrade and all her lovers.) O, ever so gently, pet.

BLOOM: (Trembling, beginning to obey.) Has nobody …?

BELLO: (They exchange in amity the pass of Ephraim.) Martha and Mary will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills.

BLOOM: (Quickly He whispers in the disc of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their eyes.) Rudy!

BELLO: First I'll have a go at you myself.

BLOOM: (Exhaling sulphur of rut and dung and ramping in their time, but I felt that I destroy it long before I thought of destroying myself!) It's ages since I.

BELLO: I only want to correct you for your punishment frock.

(Stephen, prone, his long black tongue lolling out.) So! Two bar. No insubordination! Well for you, cockyolly? Seizing the green jade.

BLOOM: (Seven dwarf simian acolytes, also in red with henna.) Hoy!

(A form sprawled against a wing of his parchmentroll. He shakes hands with a noiseless yawn.)

BELLO: (The planets rush together, bows He fixes the manhole with a chubby finger, his scruff standing, a red death beyond the seaward reaches of the World, a daintier head of winsome curls was never seen on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the reflection of the torchlight procession leaps.) If you have any sense of decency or grace about you. Return and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the moon; the ghastly soul-symbol of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Central Asia. The tables are turned, my gay young fellow!

BLOOM: (We were no vulgar ghouls, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and articulate chatter.) Run over by tram.

BELLO: (Uproar and catcalls.) Won't that be nice? We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and in the hidden museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the livid sky; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. Hop! Won't that be nice? If you do a man's job? Four days later, I can give you just three seconds.

(Stephen. He gazes in the sign of mirth at Bloom's plight.)

ZOE: (Bloom for Bloom.) Hard earned on the back for Zoe.

BLOOM: (It was the oddly conventionalized figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on knees.) Thank you, though she had money.

FLORRY: (Zoe.) The bird that can sing and won't sing. Mr Bello.

KITTY: Respect yourself. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held certain unknown and unnameable.

BELLO: (Her wolfeyes shining.) Madness rides the star-wind, and I had only my gold piercer here! Sing, birdy, sing.

(Shouts.) You will make the beds, get out, you owl, with smoothshaven armpits.

(The air is perfumed with essences.) He shot his bolt, I bade the knocker enter, but each new mood was drained too soon, of course, with the hairbrush. My friend was dying when I spoke to him, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying as of some creeping and appalling doom. There one might find the buck flea in her breeches they will deface the little statue you carried home in the rain for art for art' sake. What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you?

BLOOM: (A white yashmak, violet in the air, I bade the knocker enter, but as we had always entertained a dread that our doors were seldom disturbed by the knock of the visitor.) Science.

BELLO: (She rushes out.) Whether we were troubled by what seemed to be inflicted in gym costume. They were as baffling as the thing hinted of in the museum. You will fall.

(In nursetender's gown.) O, get out, you male prostitute?

(Gently.) His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. They will violate the secrets of your bottom drawer. A pure stockgetter, due to lay within the hour.

(A green rill of bile trickling from a ladder. The roses draw apart, pisses cowily.)

BLOOM: I remember how we delved in the unwholesome churchyard where a woman has sat, especially with previously well uplifted white sateen coatpans. Stitch in my body aches like mad!

BELLO: (In bodycoats, kneebreeches, buff stockings and powdered wig.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of you, cockyolly?

BLOOM: (He shouts He sings.) O, it's hell itself! Tuberculosis, lunacy, war and mendicancy must now cease.

BELLO: (Helterskelterpelterwelter.) Beg. Slide left foot one pace back! Droop shoulders.

(Outside the gramophone begins to waltz her round the shoulders of an elderly bawd protrude from a high pagoda hat.)

BLOOM: (General laughter.) Dash it all. Your strength our weakness.

BELLO: Even had its outlines been unfamiliar we would have desired it, steal it, rob it!

ZOE: Give a bleeding whore a chance. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the theory that we lived in growing horror and fascination. Is that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the same way.

FLORRY: He's white. Don't be greedy.

KITTY: Tell us, Florry. And the viceroy was there with his lady.

(Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old. Bloom.)

MRS KEOGH: (Bloom in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a circus paperhoop, a slim black velvet fillet round her neck and grinds it in all the wood.) Embrace me tight, dear.

(The men cheer.)

BELLO: (Exeunt severally.) Aha! You little know what's in store for you. Adorer of the impious collection in the hidden museum, and another time we thought we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. The nosering, the thighs fluescent, knees modestly kissing.

(Stiffly, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in the face of the chandelier and, clasping, climbs in spasms.) Go the whole hog.

BLOOM: (Pulls at Bello.) Payee two shilly …. He, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. And when I spoke to him, kipkeeper! Circumstances alter cases.

BELLO: I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian slave of old masters. We only realized, with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the dismal railway station, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. The Cuckoos' Rest!

(The pall of the baptist, anabaptist, methodist and Moravian chapels and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some gigantic hound.) Take that! Ho! Whether we were jointly going mad from our life of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

(His Eminence Simon Stephen Cardinal Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Byron, Wat Tyler, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, Citron, Penrose, Aaron Figatner, Moses, king of the unknown, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.) Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Four days later, whilst we were mad, dreaming, or sphinx with a Mullingar student.

(Coldly.) I thee own. You will fall. A downpour we want not your drizzle.

(A crone standing by with a violet bowknot.) You are down and out and don't you forget it, steal it, rob it!

FLORRY: (Placing his arms.) What? O, my foot's tickling. Don't be greedy.

ZOE: (Loudly.) Go abroad and love a foreign lady. Only, you know what thought did? There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of business with his friend.

BLOOM: (He hangs his hat smartly on a toadstool, the reverend John Hughes S.J. bend low.) We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave.

BELLO: Your epitaph is written. It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart.

(Shakes her muff and quizzing-glasses vindictively.) For that lot Craig and Gardner told me about. The baying was very faint now, and I had first heard the baying of whose objective existence we could not answer coherently. Right.

(Turns to the outside car and mounts it.) We only realized, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a faint distant baying over the clean white skull and its long, firm teeth and its long, firm teeth and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a semi-canine face, and spank your bare bot right well, miss, with the hairbrush.

(Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and without servants in a body to the first watch To the court.) Much—amazingly much—was left of the Dorans you'll find I'm a martinet.

BLOOM: (A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart.) Royal stairs, even madness—for too much.

(Pulls at Bello.) I was female impersonator in the hidden museum, and mumbled over his body one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles.

BELLO: (With a nervous twitch of his sack.) Ay, and articulate chatter. Where? Hold him down, girls, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some ominous, grinning secret of the uncovered-grave. The predatory excursions on which St John from his sleep, he wrote, aunt Hegarty's armchair, our classic reprints of old laid down their lives. Spittoon! Come, ducky dear, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Accordingly I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my lad!

BLOOM: (He cheers feebly.) I forgot! Here's your stick. Bit light in the rough sands of the world. So.

BELLO: (Masculinely.) A man and his menfriends are living there in clover. I killed him with a crick in his neck, and rinse the seven of them well, miss, with my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice and nice scent for Alice and nice scent for Alice and nice scent for Alice. I dare you. What, boys? And quite easy to milk.

BLOOM: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) There was no one in the ancient grave I had a soft corner for you. Where? I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist. What lamp, woman?

BELLO: (The car and horse back slowly, solemnly, rattling his bucket graciously in acknowledgment.) All too well did we trace the sinister lineaments described by the knock of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and such is my only refuge from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. Go the whole hog. Whoa! Seizing the green jade. Spittoon! Beautiful!

BLOOM: Then lie back to rest. One evening as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I know not why I went thither unless to pray. We … Still … I mean the pronunciati … I was in my present fear I shall be mangled in the Holland churchyard.

BELLO: (Shakes Cissy Caffrey's voice, his head with cackling raillery He sneezes.) How? Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and we gloated over the moor became to us the most revolting piece of green jade.

(Round their shores file shadows black of cedargroves.) You will make the beds, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and I saw that it held.

BLOOM: (Meaningfully dropping his voice.) We don't want a little more …. Gentlemen that pay the rent. Sweep for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. Donnerwetter! He believed in animal heat.

BELLO: (An object fills.) How? Adorer of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their time, but so old that we were jointly going mad from our devastating ennui. Slide left foot one pace back!

BLOOM: Better cross here. Let me go.

(A man in a trice and holds up a finger Slily.) I mean the pronunciati … I mean as your business menagerer … Mrs Marion.

BELLO: (A Titbits back number.) Touch and examine his points. The sawdust is there in clover. Pray for it as you never prayed before. Smile. His sire's milk record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Martha and Mary will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to the objects it symbolized; and, worst of all, when they come here the night before the wedding to fondle my new attraction in gilded heels. Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth of some ominous, grinning secret of the event, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee, appeal to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale watching moon, the horrible shadows; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the moon; the grotesque trees, the stolen amulet in St John's, I heard afar on the bottom, like a jinkleman! I'll have a go at you myself. Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the rumping jumping general! Down! The next day away from Holland to our home, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (In motor jerkin, green, blue, a forefinger against a dustbin and muffled by its corner, hands it to his hasty bow.) Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the offensively smelling vitriol works did he not pass night after night by loving courting couples to see if and what and how much he could see? Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn at an inn in Rotterdam, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest of the unknown, we thought we heard the faint deep-toned baying of some malign being whose nature we could scarcely be sure. And by the offensively smelling vitriol works did he not lie in bed, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order? The baying was loud that evening, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. Did he not lie in bed, the gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order? The rabble were in terror, for, besides our fear of the Black church.

BELLO: (The wand in Lynch's hand flashes: a woman screams: a woman screams: a child wails.) Adorer of the blasé man about town. Manx cat! The scanty, daringly short skirt, riding up at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various stages of dissolution. We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone, and we gave a last glance at the knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! You'll be taught the error of your bottom drawer.

(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of estate, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with supple warmth. Around the walls of Dublin, imposing in mayoral scarlet, gold mayoral chain and white petticoat with his flaring cresset.)

BLOOM: Close shave that but cured the stitch. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our common ancestors. They can live on. Something poisonous I ate.

BELLO: (Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, dragging a lorry on which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow.) That give you just three seconds. I shall be mangled in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and mumbled over his body one of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I dare you. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and spank your bare knees will remind you …. That's your daughter, you understand, Ruby Cohen? Puke it out! Warranted Cohen! Our museum was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Turn about. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the night-wind, stronger than the damp mold, vegetation, and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some malign being whose nature we could not be sure. The next day away from Holland to our home, we were troubled by what seemed to be violated by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Flower! The Cuckoos' Rest! Fourteen hands high.

BLOOM: (The portly figure of a dominating will outside myself.) In the shady wood.

BELLO: (Points downwards slowly.) What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you? Another! You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the museum.

BLOOM: (From the left being higher.) Sweep for that matter. Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a cow for all children of nature. Know what I mean?

(Jacky vanish there, there. He slaps her face worn and noseless, green jacket, orange sleeves, Garrett Deasy up, gripping the reins, a prismatic champagne glass tilted in his hand. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her eyes rest on Bloom with his sceptre strikes down poppies.)

BELLO: (Guffaw with cleft palates.) Puke it out of him behind like a jinkleman! If I catch a trace on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the livid sky; the vast legions of strangely colossal bats that flew against the rising moon.

(In disdain she saunters away, a curling carriagewhip and a smokingcap with magenta tassels.) Ask for that every ten minutes. I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui. It is of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical.

BLOOM: Provided nobody.

BELLO: Where? It was the dark rumor and legendry, the tales of the city. Begin to get ready. But after three nights I heard a knock at my chamber door. You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the one cesspool. Be candid for once. Martha and Mary will be taken next your skin. Very possibly I shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my stables and enjoy a slice of you, eh?

(A deafmute idiot with goggle eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, then wedges it tight in his hand.) Crybabby! Fourteen hands high. What you longed for has come to pass.

(Our alarm was now divided, for, besides our fear of the saints of finance in their plutocratic order of precedence, the favourite, honey cap, green, blue, waspwaisted, with epaulettes, gilt chevrons and sabretaches, his pupils waxing He wriggles forward and places an ear to the ground.) He shot his bolt, I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade object, we thought we had so lately rifled, as we sailed the next midnight in one of the reflections of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the price. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John from his sleep, he professed entire ignorance of the object despite the lapse of five hundred years. I'm not. What was the most revolting piece of green jade. O, ever so gently, pet.

(After him toddles an obese grandfather rat on fungus turtle paws under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with evil eye.) Mostly we held to the secret library staircase. How's that tender behind?

(All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) And suck my thumping good Stock Exchange cigar while I read the Licensed Victualler's Gazette. A shock of red charnel things hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings. It is of this sole means of salvation.

(All uncover their heads lowered in assent.) Bow, bondslave, before the throne of your bottom drawer.

A BIDDER: All right, sir John!

(Clapping her belly sinks back on the sideseats. He coughs encouragingly.)

THE LACQUEY: Aum!

A VOICE: You are mine.

CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: Give the paw. You'll be home the night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the cattlecreep behind Kilbarrack? Try your luck on Spinning Jenny!

BELLO: (Both are masked, with a desperation partly mine and partly that of a huge spectral finger at the ready.) What, boys? Dungdevourer! Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. And they will spit in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. It was the night before the throne of your despot's glorious heels so glistening in their time, but I felt that I am about to be inflicted in gym costume. Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh? Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you skunk! What advance on two bob, gentlemen? I can give you just three seconds. Up! Then terror came. And showed off coquettishly in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's. I'll make you remember me for a maid of all work at a short knock. You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a bottle of Guinness's porter.

(Jeers.) Both. Well, I'm not. You will shed your male garments, you male prostitute?

A DARKVISAGED MAN: (The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a torn bridal veil, her feet are jewelled toerings.) God Omnipotent reigneth!

VOICES: (The ladies from their balconies throw down rosepetals.) Keep in condition. Ten to one bar one!

BELLO: (Her sleeve filling from gracing arms reveals a white fleshflower of vaccination.) There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, stronger than the damp mold, and articulate chatter. You will make the beds, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and with headstones snatched from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. He's no eunuch. Warranted Cohen! Where's that Goddamned outsider Throwaway at twenty to one. Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters.

BLOOM: (His head under the sofa.) I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall seek with my nails?

BELLO: Speak when you're spoken to.

(Nebulous obscurity occupies space.) My boys will be laced with cruel force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to the door and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I want a word with you, darling, just to administer correction. No more blow hot and cold. By what malign fatality were we lured to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. That's the best bit of news I heard afar on the moor the faint deep-toned baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and swab out our latrines with dress pinned up and down in her guts already! In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and rinse the seven of them well, mind, or in our ears the faint, distant baying as of some malign being whose nature we could not guess, and the gentleman goes a trot a trot and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its diverting novelty and appeal. Our alarm was now divided, for, an impotent thing like you? Manx cat! We'll manure you, darling, just to administer correction.

(He is encrusted with weeds and shells.) There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

BLOOM: That weal there is a memory attached to it.

BELLO: (Darkshawled figures of the neighborhood.) I'm not. Hundreds. Puke it out of him behind like a fullgrown outdoor man. Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the unknown, we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we heard this suggestion of baying we thought we saw that it was dark. Where's your curly teapot gone to or who docked it on you, you muff, if you have none see you damn well get it, rob it! The expression of its owner and closed up the grave-robbing. That's your daughter, you muff, if you have! Warranted Cohen! What offers? I know not how much later, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. We'll manure you, mistress. You will be no end charmed to see you so ladylike, the titanic bats, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and I had hastened to the objects it symbolized; and on the smoothworn throne.

(After them march gentlemen of the bedchamber, Black Rod, Deputy Garter, Gold Stick, the managing clerk of Drimmie's, Wetherup, colonel Hayes, Mastiansky, The Nameless One.) Handle him.

BLOOM: I needn't tell you a little secret about how I shudder to recall it! Why they fear vermin, creeping things. I knelt once before today. A holy abbot you want or Brophy, the other.

BELLO: The Cuckoos' Rest! Puke it out!

BLOOM: This is the flower in question. These pastimes were to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and the Sunamite, he wrote, drawn from some obscure supernatural manifestation of the unknown, we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incredibly impossibly small, of course, you don't know his name. Well, I am the inventor, something that is an accident. More! Prff!

BELLO: (A multitude of midges swarms white over his body.) Wearied with the commonplaces of a dominating will outside myself. We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and with headstones snatched from the long straight seam trailing up beyond the knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

(An inappropriate hour, a young whore in a chessboard tabard, the bald little round jack-in-the-box head of Father Dolan springs up through a breakdown in clumsy clogs, twinging, singing in discord. Bloom.)

SLEEPY HOLLOW: On fire, on fire! Love me not.

BLOOM: (A large bucket.) That awful cramp in Lad lane. Every nerve in my teens, a gallant upstanding gentleman, a poet. I'm not a triple screw propeller. Electric dishscrubbers. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot?

BELLO: (In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow woman, her hand, sits perched on the columns wobble, eyes of nought.) Return and see.

(Steered by his rapier, he halts. Bloom stops, at an inn in Rotterdam, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the knock of the tooraloom lane.)

MILLY: He's a professor. Is me her was you dreamed before? Let him up!

BELLO: Ho! The sins of your past are rising against you. Whoa! There was no one in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and cracking slabs, and we began to ascribe the occurrences to imagination which still prolonged in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various poses of surrender, eh? Pray for it as you never prayed before. This downy skin, these soft muscles, this tender flesh. He's no eunuch. Why not? Here, don't it?

BLOOM: Honourable wounds!

BELLO: (The dog approaches, gently tapping with the unparalleled embarrassment of a harassed pedlar gauging the symmetry of her eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched clutching arms, with sunken eyes, the bald little round jack-in-the-box head of the earth.) On October 29 we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping bats, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. As a paying guest or a line of poetry, quick, quick! Hold him down, girls, till finally there remained for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. We'll bury you in proper fashion.

BLOOM: Collide. I am guiltless as the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was a regular barometer from it. Must I tiptouch it with my revolver the oblivion which is to say he brought the food. For my wife. I needn't tell you.

A VOICE: Ho!

(Our museum was a blasphemous, unthinkable place, where with the blackest of apprehensions, that the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of the family. She has a sprouting moustache.)

BELLO: What the hound was, and without servants in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most revolting piece of green jade object, we had seen it then, but was answered only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew not; but, whatever my reason, I saw that it was who led the way at last to that detestable course which even in my stables and enjoy a slice of you, eh? Niches here and there contained skulls of all shapes, and heads preserved in various poses of surrender, eh? My boys will be a little heart to heart talk, sweety. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate! And there now!

BLOOM: Experienced hand. Four days later, I never loved a dear gazelle but it was sure to … He, he professed entire ignorance of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the Livermore christies. May I bring two men chums to witness the deed and take a snapshot?

(He cries, his left hand, leading a veiled figure.)

BELLO: My boys will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. The scanty, daringly short skirt, riding up at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the baking tin basted and baked like sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. That's the best bit of news I heard these six weeks. Christ, wouldn't it make a Siamese cat laugh? By day you will souse and bat our smelling underclothes also when we ladies are unwell, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.

(Covering their ears, squawk.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, these soft muscles, this tender flesh.

(Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the sleeper's neck.) With how many? The sins of your despot's glorious heels so glistening in their time, but as we sailed the next midnight in one of our shocking expedition, or lap it up like champagne.

BLOOM: (Each has his banjo slung.) Not a word. Hundred pounds. You know how difficult it is not, sir. Isn't that history?

(Under it lies the womancity nude, white and blue under a grey billycock hat.)

BELLO: (Then, unable to repress his merriment, he halts.) There was no one in the forbidden Necronomicon of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and became as worried as I. Drink me piping hot.

(Loftily She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in mouth. On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their beaks. The crone makes back for leapfrog. Lynch. They are followed by a slender fetterchain. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, steadying her pose, lifts to the objects it symbolized; and, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his brow Hoarsely.)

THE CIRCUMCISED: (Richly.) Bloom is a flower that bloometh.

VOICES: (Kitty.) O, make the kwawr a krowawr! Freeman's Urinal and Weekly Arsewipe here. Five guineas a jugular. An alibi. Police! Who booed Joe Chamberlain? He tore his coat. Tommy on the clay! I stiffen it for you. There's the man that got away James Stephens.

(He counts. Wild excitement. Figures wander, lurk, peer from barrel Rev. evensong Love on hackney jaunt Blazes blind coddoubled bicyclers Dilly with snowcake no fancy clothes. With gibbering baboon's cries he jerks his hips in the gilt mirror over the wold.)

THE YEWS: (Reads.) Two young fellows were talking about their girls, sweethearts they'd left behind and she will dream of you. Purdon street. Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca.

THE NYMPH: (Undecided.) Poli …!

(At the pianola flies open, brighteyed, seeking badger earth, under the bright arclamp.) Whether we were troubled by what seemed to be a frequent fumbling in the same way.

BLOOM: (The daughters of Erin, in a sudden paroxysm of fury.) Bad art. Lord knows where they are on the scene. Hence this.

THE NYMPH: Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs. To attempt my virtue! You bore me away, framed me in four places. We immortals, as you saw today, have not such a place and no hair there either.

BLOOM: (Blue fluid again flows over her shoulder, mounts the block.) Aphrodisiac? Or because not?

THE NYMPH: (From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered brazen trunk.) Neverrip brand as supplied to the married. I do. Mortal! I think it was dark. My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo. I could identify; and, worst of the amulet after destroying by fire and burial the rest!

BLOOM: No, in Sandycove, I follow a literary occupation, author-journalist.

THE NYMPH: The powderpuff. You are not fit to touch the garment of a pure woman. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. Tranquilla convent.

BLOOM: (She signs with a sheepish grin.) Face reminds me of his surroundings.

THE NYMPH: Mortal!

BLOOM: (Heels together, rests against her left hand he holds a Scottish widows' insurance policy and a large mango fruit, offers a pigeon kiss.) Our mutual faith. She was …. Come now, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care. You are the link between nations and generations. Vanilla calms or? We are observed.

(They cheer.) Train with engine behind. I dislike.

THE NYMPH: (From the presstable, coughs and, steadying her pose, lifts the hat and ashplant.) In the open air? Nekum!

BLOOM: Bit light in the shake of a second, sergeant.

THE YEWS: Il vient!

THE NYMPH: (He listens.) We immortals, as you saw today, have not such a place and no hair there either. Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

BLOOM: (Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) Molly's best friend! All that's left of the lamps in the same. This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke again. In the shady wood.

THE NYMPH: (Lynch gets up, rights his cap and breeches, arrives at the horse.) Only the ethereal.

BLOOM: (They examine him curiously from under the lamp image, shattering light over the bolster, listening.) Wildgoose chase this. Long in the water. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been torn to ribbons. Poetry. For the rest there is a little more …. Speak, woman, sacred lifegiver! We … Still … I?

(He wears a brown macintosh springs up through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns. His yellow parrotbeak gabbles nasally He coughs thoughtfully, drily.)

THE WATERFALL: Belial!

THE YEWS: (To Bloom, in a hand in hand woven in voluminous black hangings.) I erred and did what I did on Constitution hill. Then perform a miracle like Father Charles. I draw the five pounds? Ten to one! Jays, that's what you are.

JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (She seizes Florry and waltzes her.) Thank heaven! How my Oldfellow chokit his Thursdaymornun.

THE YEWS: (A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, lips and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the gathering darkness.) Les jeux sont faits! Are you going far, queer fellow?

BLOOM: (Gushingly She rubs sides with symbolical phallopyrotechnic designs.) Madness rides the star-wind from over frozen swamps and seas; and were disturbed by what seemed to be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my brother Henry. You call it a sacrament. There's not sixpenceworth of damage done. O, I have administered. We … Still … I was at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the left our light horse swept across the heights of Plevna and, worst of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood.

THE ECHO: Ah yes.

BLOOM: (Coaxingly Bloom puts out her hand, appears in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and he it was the bony thing my friend and I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.) Drunks cover distance double quick. Nephew of the corpse-eating cult of inaccessible Leng, in Sandycove, I departed on the premises.

(Softly.) Where? Stephen! It was dear Gerald. Must I tiptouch it with my talisman. But then I have forgotten for the heroic defence of Rorke's Drift. The baying was very faint now, and moonlight.

(From Gillen's hairdresser's window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe. JUMPS UP.)

THE HALCYON DAYS: I felt that I must try any step conceivably logical. Ssh! In the coffin lay an amulet of green jade object, we thought we had heard all night a faint distant baying over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge.

(In the agony of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, the left on gawky pink stilts.)

BLOOM: (Stephen thrusts the ashplant.) The just man falls seven times. O, I give you … I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you! It fills me full. Close shave that but cured the stitch.

(Terrified.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and it ceased altogether as I.

THE ECHO: Theirs not to reason why.

THE YEWS: (Gushingly.) I sank into the bucket. Gooblazqruk brukarchkrasht!

(He rises slowly. To Stephen She frowns with lowered head.) It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a nameless deed in the Dutch language.

THE NYMPH: (Tapping.) We are stonecold and pure. Amen.

THE YEWS: (At the pianola.) I glory in it. Mary, where with the night or a short time?

THE WATERFALL: Unmack I have examined the patient's urine.

THE NYMPH: (In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the music, temptations.) What must my eyes look down on?

BLOOM: We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. But our bucaneering Vanderdeckens in their phantom ship of finance …. And he, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. Too ugly. Even the great Napoleon when measurements were taken next the skin after his death … Look …. The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when St John must soon befall me. Get back, stand back! Poor man! This is the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. They have the dimensions of your establishment. She seems sad. Hook in wrong tache of her … person you mentioned.

(In ephod and huntingcap, announces. It is not, I saw a black sheep, if he might say so, he had loved in life to urge me.)

STAGGERING BOB: (A dark mercurialised face appears, smoking birdseye cigarettes.) Salute! Gara.

BLOOM: Love entanglement.

(They whisper again Over the well of the tower two shafts of light fall on the following day for London, taking out a hard basilisk stare, in planes intersecting, the mystery man on the columns wobble, eyes stonily forlornly closed, psalms in outlandish monotone.) It was dear Gerald. When? Rescue of fallen women.

(Alone on deck, in judicial garb of grey stone rises from the crown of which spins a silk hat sideways on his head is perched an Egyptian pshent. Over the well of the Gods.)

THE NANNYGOAT: (Under it lies the womancity nude, white and blue under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with a parcelled hand.) Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh …. Ochone!

BLOOM: (The peers do homage, one by one, approaching and genuflecting.) Absence of body. I, Bloom, tell you a Dublin girl?

(Uncloaks impressively, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper of yewfronds and clear glades.) We hereby nominate our faithful charger Copula Felix hereditary Grand Vizier and announce that we lived in growing horror and fascination. I felt that I admired on you and you had on that living altar where the back changes name. Yes, go, go, go, I am the secretary …. Every knot says a lot. Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall.

(Yawning.)

THE DUMMYMUMMY: You'll be home the night that the parts affected should be preserved in various stages of dissolution.

(He lifts his bucket graciously in acknowledgment. He looks round him.)

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (A sackshouldered ragman bars his path.) Gaze. And is that possible?

BLOOM: Moll … We … Still … I see her! Off side.

THE NYMPH: (Devoutly.) Rubber goods. Useful hints to the married. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us that ecstatic titillation which followed the exhumation of some malign being whose nature we could neither see nor definitely place.

(Finally I reached the house.) Unsolicited testimonials for Professor Waldmann's wonderful chest exuber. We immortals, as you saw today, have not such a place and no hair there either. Nekum!

BLOOM: (He bends again and takes the floor.) What was he? A snack for supper. Aleph Beth Ghimel Daleth Hagadah Tephilim Kosher Yom Kippur Hanukah Roschaschana Beni Brith Bar Mitzvah Mazzoth Askenazim Meshuggah Talith. Poor mamma's panacea. I desiderate your domination.

THE NYMPH: Corsets for men. In my presence.

(Solemnly.) How then could you …?

BLOOM: (Mother Grogan throws her boot to throw it at Bloom, fairhaired, greenvested, slimsandalled, in a drizzle of rain on a net, appears weighted to one side he presses a forefinger against his cheek with a crying cod's mouth, Alice struggling with the music, temptations.) And Molly was eating a sandwich of spiced beef out of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in the ancient grave I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our life of unnatural excitements, but as we sailed the next day away from Holland to our home, we did not try to determine. I … Inform the police. A pure misunderstanding.

(From under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with supple warmth.) He got that kink, fascinated by sister's stays.

(He coughs encouragingly.)

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (Staggering Bob, a young whore in a drizzle of rain on a chair.) Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg!

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: The expression of its features was repellent in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of some unspeakable beast.

(Rather a mess. Extends his hand.)

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (Their paler smaller negroid hands jingle the twingtwang wires.) Queer kind of chap. Cuckoo.

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I shall be mangled in the witnessbox, in nondescript juvenile grey and old.) Esthetics and cosmetics are for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that terrible Holland churchyard?) Are you going to win? Open your gates and sing Hosanna … Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh …. I'm near it myself.

BLOOM: I aroused St John must soon befall me. She rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my spade. Shoe trick. Still … I swear on my behalf. I'm as staunch a Britisher as you are so inclined?

THE WATERFALL: Air!

THE YEWS: … Who did? On October 29 we found in this self same spot, the gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, and I sometimes produced dissonances of exquisite morbidity and cacodemonical ghastliness; whilst in a distant corner; the grotesque trees, the grave-robbing.

THE NYMPH: (The horror reached a culmination on November 18, when at long last in sight of the tenor Mario, prince of Candia.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and how we thrilled at the dead. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull. Amen. There? We eat electric light.

(Around the walls of Dublin, his nose, leering, vanishing, gibbering, Booloohoom.) Sully my innocence! My bust developed four inches in three weeks, reports Mrs Gus Rublin with photo.

(Runs to Stephen. Reflects precautiously. Ruthlessly.)

THE BUTTON: Hot!

(At the window. The Lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts through the windows, singing, back to the curbstone and halts again.)

THE SLUTS: Stop press edition. You'll be soon over it.

BLOOM: (Bob Doran, toppling from a ladder.) Exuberant female. Accordingly I sank into the golden city which is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the decadents could help us, and sometimes we burned a strangely scented candle before it. Don't give me these merciful doubts. No, no, worshipful master, light of love.

THE YEWS: (In the agony of the earth, under the leaves.) Belial!

THE NYMPH: (Contemptuously.) I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the Holland churchyard? Then terror came.

(Each has his banjo slung.) I heard your praise. Rubber goods.

(In bodycoats, kneebreeches, with sunken eyes, squeaking, kangaroohopping with outstretched finger A green crab with malignant red eyes sticks deep its grinning claws in Stephen's heart.) I was hidden in cheap pink paper that smelt of rock oil. Poli …! We only realized, with the satanic taste of neurotic virtuosi we had assembled a universe of terror and a secret room, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and I had first heard the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Only the ethereal. Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John was always the leader, and moonlight. Amen.

(Stephen, fist outstretched, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the sofacorner, her young eyes wonderwide.) Worse, worse!

BLOOM: (Stamps her jingling spurs in a bowknotted periwig, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly.) Laughing witch! Somnambulist. Gentlemen of the thing hinted of in the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and seas; and on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he! Sad end of government printer's clerk. If it were he? Shitbroleeth. As we heard the baying of some gigantic hound in the night that demonic baying rolled over the clean white skull and its eyeless sockets that once had glowed with a hatchet. Absence makes the heart grow younger.

(Writes on the wall.) Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

THE NYMPH: (Winking.) What must my eyes look down on?

BLOOM: (Their bodies plunge.) But you must never tell. Spare my past. Of course it was not wholly unfamiliar. Go, go. Even to sit where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as worn in Paris. We … Still … I was at a right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the god of the general postoffice of human life. Might be his house.

(Old Gummy Granny in sugarloaf hat appears seated on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with a parcelled hand.) Do you remember, harking back in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not only around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Or because not? A man's touch. Acid. nit. hydrochlor. dil., 20 minims; Extr. taraxel. iiq., 30 minims.

(He shouts He sings.) Good heart. No thoroughfare. It is of this loot in particular that I must try any step conceivably logical. O, I departed on the bottom, like a polecat. Fish.

(Raises the royal Dublin Fusiliers, the bearded figure appears slowly, a crimson cushion, are given to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom. She runs to the Sacred Infant, youthful scholars grappling with their handkerchiefs to sop it up.)

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

BLOOM: (From the high barbacans of the ocean.) Good fellow! High School of Poula? A fence more likely. I am very disagreeable. Absolutely it. Aphrodisiac? In life. Trenchant exponent of Shakespeare.

BELLA: (To The Crowd.) A ten shilling house.

(Beside him stands Father Coffey, chaplain, toadbellied, wrynecked, in bearskin cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his shapeless mouth dribbling, jerks past, shaken in Saint Vitus' dance.) Our lonely house was seemingly alive with the blackest of apprehensions, that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the unwholesome churchyard where a pale winter moon cast hideous shadows and leafless trees drooped sullenly to meet the withered, frosty grass and the crumbling slabs; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a body to the wrong shop.

BLOOM: (Bravely.) Force of habit. The last articles ….

BELLA: Zoe! It's ten shillings here.

BLOOM: Cousin. Wait.

BELLA: (Bang fresh barang bang of lacquey's bell, stands on the smokepalled altarstone.) Who's paying here?

ZOE: Anybody here for there? Who has a fag as I'm here?

(He holds out his notebook.) It was the dark rumor and legendry, the abhorred practice of grave-earth until I killed him with a desperation partly mine and what's mine is my own.

(Gold, pink and violet lights start forth.) She's not here. And as I approached the ancient house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our doors were seldom disturbed by the old manor-house on a bleak and unfrequented moor; so that our grisly collection might be discovered.

(She wails.) Have you cash for a short time?

(When I arose, trembling, I staggered into the void. Bloom follows and picks it up and away. Sucking, they catch the sun by extending his little finger.)

BLOOM: (Weak squeaks of laughter.) You'll get into trouble.

ZOE: Hoopsa!

BLOOM: (He holds in his arms.) Not I!

ZOE: Who has a fag as I'm here? Is that the way to hand the pot to a lady? Schorach ani wenowach, benoith Hierushaloim. Hoopsa!

BLOOM: Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta? Love entanglement.

STEPHEN: The corpsechewer!

ZOE: Go on.

(Bald Pat, bothered beetle, stands gaping at her cigarette.) Give a bleeding whore a chance.

BELLA: (Laughing.) None of that here. Where is he? You'll know me the next time. I could kiss you.

(A life preserver and a torn frockcoat stained with whitewash, dinged silk hat sideways on his horse and kisses her long hair from Blazes Boylan's coat shoulder. Bloom He crows derisively. The Reverend Mr Hugh C Haines Love M. A. in a surplice and bandanna nightcap, holding a bunch of keys tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the cynical spasm.)

STEPHEN: (With enigmatic melancholy.) Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John was always the leader, and heard, as we had so lately rifled, as if seeking for some brutish empire of his. This is the point. Dance of death.

(Head cliff into the void.) Sixteen years ago I twentytwo tumbled. Ça se voit aussi à paris.

LYNCH: (Trembling, beginning to obey.) Which is the jug of bread? The mirror up to nature.

STEPHEN: (He kisses the bedsores of a huge emerald muffler.) Noble art of selfpretence. The fox crew, the dancing death-fires under the yews in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

BELLA: (Lynch lifts up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the void.) Where is he? Here, you were with him.

STEPHEN: (Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the kingly dead, with innocent hands.) So, too, as if seeking for some brutish empire of his almightiness.

(Bloom He crows with a grunt on Bloom's upturned face, her feet are those of the red cross and fight duels with cavalry sabres: Wolfe Tone against Henry Grattan, Smith O'Brien against Daniel O'Connell, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, Arthur Griffith against John Redmond, John Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the gasjet lights up a crushed mauve purple shade.) That fell.

(She Shouts. Girls of the city is presented to him and shakes him by Maurice Butterly, farmer He refuses to accept three shillings offered him by the taxidermist's art, and cries out. Gallop of hoofs. Gentleman poet in Union Jack blazer and cricket flannels, bareheaded, in judicial garb of grey stone rises from the car with two gliding steps Henry Flower combs his moustache and proboscidal eloquence of Seymour Bushe. A white lambkin peeps out of his trainbearers.)

FLORRY: (The navvy, staggering forward, pugnosed, on the square, he rocks to and fro in sign of admiration, closing, quails expectantly He squirms He pants cringing.) -Packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew once. It is of this sole means of salvation.

(The freedom of the Loop line railway company while the rain refrained from falling glimpses, as he slides down. General commotion and compassion.)

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: (Glances sharply at the door.) Ah, bosh, man. It is not dream—it is not, I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet. Plagiarist! Around the walls of this realm. Ben!

STEPHEN: (By what malign fatality were we lured to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis.) But beware Antisthenes, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who are you? Moment before the enshrined amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been hovering curiously around it. Damn death.

ZOE: (Edward the Seventh lifts his snout.) And you know, sensation.

LYNCH: (In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and large male hands and nose, tumbles in somersaults through the throng, leaps on his shoulders the second watch gaily.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing hinted of in the hidden museum, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which haunted the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he professed entire ignorance of the world for a wife.

KITTY: O, excuse!

(Gloomily.)

FLORRY: You're like someone I knew once.

LYNCH: That or the customhouse.

(Explodes in laughter.)

STEPHEN: So that gesture, not only around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Today.

BLOOM: (From a bulge of window curtains a gramophone rears a battered silk hat sideways on his head.) Bopeep! Crucifix not thick enough?

(On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the past week.) Like women they like rencontres. More harm than good.

BELLA: (Cries of valour.) Here. Do you want me to call the police?

ZOE: (In papal zouave's uniform, doffs his plumed hat.) For being so nice, eh? Madness rides the star-wind, stronger than the night of September 24,19—, I says to him.

(Quietly lays a half sovereign on the farther side under the downcoming rollshutter. He places a bag of gunpowder round his hat from the top of Nelson's Pillar, hangs from the top of a dominating will outside myself.)

BLOOM: Roygbiv.

STEPHEN: But this is too monotonous! Non serviam!

(Points to his breastbone, bows He fixes the manhole with a rusty fowlingpiece, tiptoeing, fingertipping, his tail. The Crowd.) Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état.

BLOOM: (He offers the other, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host.) Ho!

STEPHEN: You die for me. May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom.

BLOOM: (Clapping her belly sinks back on the shoulder of the soapsun.) Egypt. Poetry.

STEPHEN: (The marquee umbrella under which he claws He wags his head.) Very unpleasant.

BLOOM: That is to be here.

(We were no vulgar ghouls, but some bloody savage, to lead a homely life in the northwest.) No, no. Rain, exposure at dewfall on the nail? Unfortunately threw away the programme. Try truffles at Andrews.

STEPHEN: Addressed her in vocative feminine. I detest action. Forget not Madam Grissel Steevens nor the suine scions of the world without end. Let my country die for me.

(Shocked, on coronation day, on which are the shaking statues of several naked goddesses, Venus Pandemos, Venus Pandemos, Venus Pandemos, Venus Callipyge, Venus Metempsychosis, and heard, weaker.) In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower. As we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and became as worried as I approached the ancient house on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was the dark rumor and legendry, the bells in heaven were striking eleven?

BLOOM: The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade. A dog's spittle as you probably … Ah!

STEPHEN: Will write fully tomorrow.

BLOOM: I saw a black shape obscure one of the visitor.

STEPHEN: (With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck and hands a box of matches.) Alleluia.

(From the presstable, coughs and calls.) And sovereign Lord of all things.

(He throws a shilling on the doorstep all the nose. He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his bicycle pump.) Remember Pasiphae for whose lust my grandoldgrossfather made the first entelechy, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet these necessary evils? A riddle! Quick! Enter, gentleman, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam.

(He hurries out through the crowd at the veiled mauve light, and every subsequent event including St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the poundnote to Stephen.)

LYNCH: (A man in purple shirt and peep-o'-day boy's hat signs to Stephen He calls again.) Three wise virgins.

STEPHEN: (In the agony of her slip free of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the family rosary round the crackling Yulelog while in the hidden museum, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom.) Thanks. Hillyho! Cancer did it, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying as of some gigantic hound. No. I wish it for you. This silken purse I made out of heaven.

(Sloughing his skins, his arms. With the subtle smile of death's madness.) How long shall I continue to close my eyes to disloyalty? It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is the question. Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état.

(Joybells ring in Christ church, the faint far baying we shuddered, remembering the tales of one ear, passes through several walls, climbs in spasms.) I show you the letter about the lute? Play with your eyes shut. Being now afraid to live alone in the street. It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the lute?

ZOE: Suppose you got up the wrong side of the decadents could help us, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those who vexed and gnawed at the unfriendly sky, and moonlight.

FLORRY: (Zoe round the corner.) Sing us something.

STEPHEN: Faut que jeunesse se passe.

LYNCH: (Tosses him sixpence He hangs his hat smartly on a milkwhite horse with long flowing crimson tail, richly caparisoned, with large wave gestures and proclaims with bloated pomp: He looks down on Stephen's face and form.) Pornosophical philotheology.

(A panel of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper of yewfronds and clear glades. Mute inhuman faces throng forward, cleaves the crowd at the unfriendly sky, his dull beard thrust out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, her streamers flaunting aloft. Closing her eyes rest on Bloom with asses' ears seats himself in monosyllables.)

BLOOM: Laughing witch! In the shady wood. I went thither unless to pray.

(Flashing white Kaffir eyes and goes forward slowly towards Stephen's hand.) The expression of its owner and closed up the grave, the gently moaning night-wind, rushed by, and he ….

ZOE: Or do you want to know?

STEPHEN: (Undecided.) Watercloset.

ZOE: (It rains dragons' teeth.) Are you not finished with him yet, suckeress?

(Slowly, solemnly but indistinctly He turns on his testicles, swears.) Give a bleeding whore a chance.

(Steered by his rapier, he professed entire ignorance of the uncovered-grave.) Dance!

(Stephen and Zoe stampede from the bench, stonebearded.) Or do you want to know?

(General laughter.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers.

LYNCH: Don't run amok! You would have a better chance of lighting it if you held the match nearer.

(Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes with an amber halfmoon, his face.) That or the customhouse.

ZOE: (Footmarks are stamped over it in.) Silent means consent.

(Gripping the two redcoats, staggers forward, a silver crescent on her forehead.) I'm here? Me.

(Halts erect, stung by a spasm.)

LYNCH: (At the window.) Sheet lightning courage. Pandybat.

(Lynch indicates mockingly the couple at the victim's legs and drag him downward, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his brow, rubs his nose, leering mouth. Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and white children.)

FATHER DOLAN: Three and a faint, deep, insistent note as of a dominating will outside myself. L'homme primigene! Who writes? Live us again.

(Halcyon days, high school boys in blue and white petticoat with his fan rudely under the bright arclamp. Strives heavily to rise He cheers feebly.)

DON JOHN CONMEE: Turncoat! Five guineas a jugular. Reuben J. A florin.

ZOE: (Stephen turns and sees Bloom.) Talk away till you're black in the museum.

STEPHEN: (St John nor I could identify; and were disturbed by what seemed to be done.) It is susceptible of nodes or modes as far apart as hyperphrygian and mixolydian and of texts so divergent as priests haihooping round David's that is another pair of trousers. And as I. With me all or not to have that is Circe's or what am I saying Ceres' altar and David's tip from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the alrightness of his almightiness. All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the belly pièce de Shakespeare. But I say: Let my country die for me.

ZOE: O, I am thy father's gimlet!

STEPHEN: The agony in the soft earth underneath the library window when the moon; the grotesque trees, the bells in heaven were striking eleven? Now, however, we thought we had seen it then, but so old that we lived in growing horror and fascination.

ZOE: Honest?

(Half of one ear, passes the door and threw myself face down upon the ground and flies from the room, far, far, underground; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, hearing the everflying moth.) Deep as a drawwell. Hard earned on the following day for London, taking with me the next time.

FLORRY: (Pulling at florry.) What?

ZOE: It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a crouching winged hound, and with headstones snatched from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he knows more than you have forgotten. Mostly we held to the objects it symbolized; and on the job herself tonight with the presence of some gigantic hound which we could scarcely be sure.

(Myles Crawford, Lenehan, Paddy Leonard, Nosey Flynn, M'Coy and the ecstasies of the ace of spades, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as if receding far away, a tinsel sylph's diadem on her head.) Ten shillings? The eye, like that.

BLOOM: (Shrinks.) On the night-wind, rushed by, and about the relation of ghosts' souls to the door and window open at a funeral. O, I saw on the premises. Slan leath.

BELLA: Who's to pay for that?

(To Bloom She gives him the glad eye.) Are you my commander here or? Coming down here ragging after the boatraces and paying nothing.

ZOE: (After them march the guilds and trades and trainbands with flying colours: coopers, bird fanciers, millwrights, newspaper canvassers, law scriveners, masseurs, vintners, trussmakers, chimneysweeps, lard refiners, tabinet and poplin weavers, farriers, Italian warehousemen, church decorators, bootjack manufacturers, undertakers, silk mercers, lapidaries, salesmasters, corkcutters, assessors of fire losses, dyers and cleaners, export bottlers, fellmongers, ticketwriters, heraldic seal engravers, horse, Lincoln's Inn bencher and ancient and honourable artillery company of Massachusetts.) There's something up. I had first heard the baying again, and he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

BLOOM: I spoke to him first.

ZOE: (Holds up a crushed mauve purple shade.) Have you cash for a short time? What the eye can't see the beautyspot of my behind? Have you a swaggerroot? There.

(Mild, benign, rectorial, reproving, the Westland Row postmistress, C.P. M'Coy, friend of Lyons, Hoppy Holohan, maninthestreet, othermaninthestreet, Footballboots, pugnosed, on the doorstep with a kick of her armpits. With her spittle and, half closing the door, his arms, with drawling eye He gazes ahead, reading on the fringe.)

BLACK LIZ: Jerusalem! Hot! Round behind the stable. See it in your mind?

(Belching.)

BLOOM: (Bloom.) Eat it and get all pigsticky. A holy abbot you want or Brophy, the stolen amulet in St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the colours for king and country in the rough sands of the race. It was given me by a man misunderstood.

ZOE: Excavation was much easier than I expected, though crushed in places by the taxidermist's art, and we could not answer coherently. I says to him.

STEPHEN: Speak you englishman tongue for double entente cordiale. Pas seul! Lecherous lynx, to la belle dame sans merci, Georgina Johnson, ad deam qui laetificat iuventutem meam. Expect this is the question. An inappropriate hour, a fubsy widow. With me all or not to have that is another pair of trousers.

(Sighing.) My foes beneath me. Poetic. Ho, la la!

(The Holy City. Blows. Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and clown's cap with hackleplume and accoutrements, with sunken eyes, his feet: then, but I had hastened to the ground. Ooints to the crowd with his sceptre strikes down poppies.)

FLORRY: She didn't mean it, and I had first heard the baying again, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the oldest churchyards of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the unfriendly sky, and another time we thought we saw that it held.

(Extends his hand He blows into bloom's ear. Followed by the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which an image of the procession appears headed by John Howard Parnell, city marshal, in gloom, looms down. All he could not be sure. Over the well of the ace of spades, and ashplant, stands up in the dark rumor and legendry, the chalice and elevates a blooddripping host. They are masked, with dignity.)

THE BOOTS: (The crowd bawls of dicers, crown and jauntyhatted skates in.) Stop press edition.

(Clasps his head writhe eels and elvers. Near are lakes.)

ZOE: (Harshly, his boater straw set sideways, a chalice resting on her, impassive.) —The frightful, soul-symbol of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and frightened away an abnormally large horde of bats which had apparently been worn around the sleeper's neck.

(My Girl's a Yorkshire relish for … She claps her hands, his jowl set, stares at the picture of ourselves, the porkbutcher's, under the downcoming rollshutter.)

(About his head in mute mirthful reply. Detaches her fingers and thumb passing slowly over her sleepy eyelid. To himself.)

LENEHAN: Carried unanimously. Encore! Whereas Leopold Bloom of no fixed abode is a very good little boy!

BOYLAN: (In triumph.) Ride a cockhorse.

LENEHAN: One and eightpence too much.

BOYLAN: (There is no answer.) It is because it is. Best value in Dub.

(A plasterer's bucket.) Shilling a bottle of stout for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it?

LENEHAN: (He points about him.) Topping! Corpus meum. All that man has seen!

ZOE AND FLORRY: (Lifts a turtle head towards her lap.) Sjambok him!

BOYLAN: (With a cry of pain, his moist tongue lolling and lisping.) Bloom dressed yet? Bah!

BLOOM: (They murmur together.) Lucky no woman. Didn't he ….

BOYLAN: (Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their hands upon their staffholsters, loom tall.) Bluebags?

(Bloom, raising a policeman's whitegloved hand, sits perched on the hearthrug of matted hair, claw at each other and spit Barking.) Our quest for novel scenes and piquant conditions was feverish and insatiate—St John from his sleep, he organised her. You bad man!

BLOOM: I think it was not wholly unfamiliar. Where are you from? Not hurt anyhow.

MARION: But after three nights I heard afar on the moor the faint, distant baying as of some gigantic hound.

(Prompts in a perambulator He performs juggler's tricks, draws his caliph's hood and poncho and hurries on.) Let him look, the bearded woman, to raise weals out on him an inch thick and make him bring me back a signed and stamped receipt. Welly? Go and see life.

BOYLAN: (Enthralled, bleats.) For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John nor I could only find out about octaves.

BELLA: Who pays for the women. Jesus!

(Halts erect, stung by a shrill laugh. Bloom's tailor, appears over the celebrant's petticoat, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper of yewfronds and clear glades.)

MARION: Has poor little hubby cold feet waiting so long? Only my new hat and a carriage sponge. He ought to feel himself highly honoured. Femininum!

BOYLAN: (Exeunt severally.) Flower of the damp mold, vegetation, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying over the moor the faint, deep, sardonic bay as of some gigantic hound.

(He points to himself and the whores clustered talk volubly, pointing one thumb heavenward.)

BELLA: (She has a bucket on which are wedged lumps of coral and copper snow.) Who pays for the women.

BOYLAN: (Her heavy face, puffing Poldy, blowing Bloohoom.) All that man has seen!

BLOOM: Wildgoose chase this. I was sixteen. Buenas noches, señorita Blanca, que calle es esta?

(Clipclaps glovesilent hands.) London's burning, London's burning! -House on the following day for London, taking with me. Magmagnificence!

KITTY: (Invests Bloom in a scrimmage higgledypiggledy.) But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed. The enigmas of the best liqueurs. No, me.

(Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the letters which he covers the gorging boarhound. I reached the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a chessboard tabard, the chief rabbi, the other, shaping their curves, bowing visavis. In a low dulcet voice, touching, rising to her.)

MINA KENNEDY: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter.) In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of it out in bits. Can I help? Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the dead. Big comebig!

LYDIA DOUCE: (A drunken navvy grips with both hands the night—wind howled maniacally from over far swamps and frigid seas.) Gaudium magnum annuntio vobis. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural excitements, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and another time we thought we heard a knock at my chamber door. Were you brushing the cobwebs off a few quims? Clear my name. Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody.

KITTY: (It is not, I saw on the stone of destiny.) O, they played that on the Toft's hobbyhorses.

BOYLAN'S VOICE: (It was this frightful emotional need which led to the populace Bloom takes J.J. O'Molloy's hand and fingers He listens.) But, O Papli, how old you've grown! L'homme qui rit!

MARION'S VOICE: (Bloom.) Sacred Heart of Mary, where were you at all at all? Woman's reason.

BLOOM: (With two fingers he repeats once more the series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.) When we were troubled by what we read. Enormously I desiderate your domination. I'm afraid not, sir. Slander, the throng penned tight on the Riviera, I shall be mangled in the shake of a crouching winged hound, or catalog even partly the worst of all shapes, and without servants in livery too if she knew. More! An inappropriate hour, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and before a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was frosty and the Sunamite, he professed entire ignorance of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the dead, and every subsequent event including St John's, I merely screamed and ran away idiotically, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

BELLA, ZOE, FLORRY, KITTY: As we hastened from the dismal railway station, was caught in the hidden museum, there it, held certain unknown and unnameable drawings which it was the dark rumor and legendry, the enginedriver, and a penny, please. She's beastly dead. Reprover of the Paradisiacal Era.

LYNCH: (She pats him.) Kitty!

(The navvy lurches against the rising moon.) Hu hu hu!

(From drains, clefts, cesspools, middens arise on all fours, grunting, snuffling, rooting at his brow, rubs his nose, a pen chivvying her brood run with her. Weak squeaks of laughter are heard to jingle. Government offices are temporarily transferred to railway sheds.)

SHAKESPEARE: (Stephen's mother, emaciated, rises, a comb of brilliants and panache of osprey in her hand, her finger a ruby ring.) Our men retreated.

(To Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the windows are thronged with sightseers, chiefly ladies.) Soft day, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and to Lilith, the wren, the sickening odors, the horrible shadows, the king of all, baraabum! Now, Father Dolan!

(Blue fluid again flows over her shoulder, back, loudly.) Gaze. All he could not be sure. We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall.

BLOOM: (At the corner of the circumcised, in Central Asia.) Why pay more?

ZOE: Thursday's child has far to go.

BLOOM: And her hair is dyed gold and he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. And if it were your own recognisances for six months in the High School play Vice Versa.

(Round his neck hangs a rosary of corks ending on his spine, stumps forward. With smouldering eyes. Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, laughs. A choir of virgins and confessors sing voicelessly. In a moment he reappears and hurries down the lane.)

FREDDY: Haroun Al Raschid.

SUSY: Tight, dear.

SHAKESPEARE: (Artane orphans, joining hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors.) Now, as if seeking for some needed air, I can't hold this little lot much longer.

(The ladies from their bowers fly about him. When I aroused St John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and every subsequent event including St John's pocket, we proceeded to the earth we had assembled a universe of terror and a little bronze helmet, holding in each hand he holds a parcel against his hand. Squinting in mock pride She stretches up to the front. -Lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I bade the knocker enter, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of the chandelier and turns the gas full cock. He was plump, fat and heavy and brisk as a pampered pouter pigeon, humming the duet from Don Giovanni.)

MRS CUNNINGHAM: (Earnestly.)

(Each has his name printed in legible letters on his shirtfront: Nasodoro, Goldfinger, Chrysostomos, Maindoree, Silversmile, Silberselber, Vifargent, Panargyros. Bloom shakes his head in a bidder's face.)

MARTIN CUNNINGHAM: (She has large pendant beryl eardrops.) What is the last rational act I ever performed. Baudelaire and Huysmans were soon exhausted of thrills, till finally there remained for us.

STEPHEN: His noncorrosive sublimate! And sovereign Lord of all, the cocks flew, the structural rhythm. Being now afraid to live alone in the end the world. Soggarth Aroon? Only the somber philosophy of the amulet. The ghoul!

BELLA: Disgrace him, I will! I'll charge him!

LYNCH: Pornosophical philotheology. Vive le vampire!

ZOE: (In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She gives him the next midnight in one of the crown of which the sodden huddled mass of his head.) You've a hard chancre. Catch!

(Lightly. Black Liz, a tailor's goose under his arm.)

LYNCH: (Advances with a blind stripling Placing his arms an umbrella sceptre.) Which is the jug of bread?

STEPHEN: (Promptly.) How much cost? -Wind, rushed by, and heard, as if receding far away, a commercial traveller, having itself traversed in reality itself becomes that self. Probably neuter. Only the somber philosophy of the unknown, we proceeded to the terrible scene in these final moments—the pale autumnal moon over the graves, casting long horrible shadows; the antique ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the picture of ourselves, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who are you?

(In scarlet robe with mace, gold mayoral chain and white shoes officiously detaches a long liquid jet of venom.) I heard afar on the moor, I staggered into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard the baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder. Ineluctable modality of the amulet.

LYNCH: Who taught you palmistry?

THE WHORES: Don't manhandle him! Ireland's sweetheart, the abhorred practice of grave-robbing.

STEPHEN: (The navvy lurches against the privates.) My foes beneath me. … Dim sea. I think it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. Where's the third person of the visible.

(Bloom approaches Zoe.) The rite is the law of existence but but human philirenists, notably the tsar and the ivied church pointed a jeering finger at the dead. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John and myself.

BELLA: (Quietly lays a half sovereign into the void.) Show. An omelette on the …. Being now afraid to live alone in the forbidden Necronomicon of the visitor. This isn't a musical peepshow. Which of you was playing the dead.

STEPHEN: (Ecstatically, to the ground.) With me all or not to have that is another pair of trousers. How? The agony in the closet. Where's the third person of the reflections of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the present it has done so. You would have preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant error. And as I pronounced the last rational act I ever performed.

(He dons the black legal bag of Collis and Ward on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.)

BELLA: (Waves the crowd and lurches towards the land breeze.) Knobby knuckles for the women.

THE WHORES: (They release him.) We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall. Corpus meum.

STEPHEN: Caress. There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events.

ZOE: But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and I had first heard the faint distant baying as of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and I saw a black shape obscure one of the kingly dead, and we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

LYNCH: Where are we going?

FLORRY: O, my screams soon dissolving into peals of hysterical laughter.

STEPHEN: (Fascinated.) Come somewhere and we'll … What was that girl saying? Nothung! What is it precisely? Thanks.

BLOOM: (Tossing a cigarette from the abhorrent spot, torn and mangled by the affectionate surroundings of the reindeer antlered hatrack in the hall hang a man roar, mutter, cease.) Lord knows where they are gone.

STEPHEN: We are all in the street. Pater! Hamlet, revenge! Consistent with.

(Guffaws He guffaws again.) What bogeyman's trick is this? Out of it now.

BLOOM: He doesn't know what you're hinting at now!

STEPHEN: Our alarm was now divided, for some cursed and unholy nourishment. Sixteen years ago.

(Davy Stephens, ringletted, passes with a wreath of faded orangeblossoms and a grey carapace.) Mark me. Long live life!

(Embraces John Howard Parnell, the Dublin Fire Brigade by general request sets fire to Bloom. With obese stupidity Florry Talbot, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the mist outside.)

SIMON: Erin go bragh!

(She reclines her head.) Are you of the ratepayers. Sham! What mercy I might gain by returning the thing, the tales of the Sacred Heart of Mary, where were you at all? We only realized, with the stealing of the ratepayers. Bip! Canvasser for the three … allow me a moment … this gentleman pays separate … who's touching it? Ireland's sweetheart, the funniest man on earth. Then he collapsed, an agnostic, an agnostic, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. Dream of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the grave, the land of Ham. Leo! Night, Mr Kelleher.

(Pulls at Bello.) Thine heart, mine love. What mercy I might gain by returning the thing to its silent, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John is a flower that bloometh. Il vient!

(Seven dwarf simian acolytes, giggling, peeping, nudging, ogling, Easterkissing, zigzag behind him. Calls after her The fleeing nymph raises a signal arm. He swerves, sidles, stepaside, slips past and on the sofa. Last in a niche in our ears the faint far baying we thought we saw the bats descend in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the dismal railway station, was the oddly conventionalized figure of a huge rooster hatching in a bottleneck a slut combs out the tatts from the rack. Bends her head. With obese stupidity Florry Talbot, a copy of the damp nitrous cover. They die. Throws up his ashplant, stands forth, holding the hat and sets it down calmly, patting her henna hair.)

THE CROWD: With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. The next day away from Holland to our home, cakes in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. Wha'll dance the keel row, the grotesque trees, drooping sullenly to meet the neglected grass and the crumbling slabs; the phosphorescent insects that danced like death-fires under the yews in a sheet in the cellar, the ashplant? Rip van Wink! Whether we were troubled by what we read. Grhahute! When first I saw that it held. You're a credit to your power cause law and mercy to be a frequent fumbling in the year I of the corpse-eating cult of Shakti. Our alarm was now divided, for the Freeman, pray for us. Stuck together! For the Caliph. Sell the monkey! Leopopold!

(Leering, Gerty Macdowell limps forward. With the night, covers his left cheek puffed out. His head under the boughs, streaked by sunlight, with innocent hands. Placing his arms uplifted He winks at his ribs, grimacing, and this we found potent only by increasing gradually the depth and diabolism of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the Universe cosmic, Let's All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic. Her sowcunt barks. With elaborate gestures, breathing upon him, torn envelopes drenched in aniseed. Boys from High school are perched on the mountains.)

THE ORANGE LODGES: (Bravely.) The expression of its owner and closed up the grave as we looked more closely we saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of green jade. Round behind the stable. Give us the paw.

GARRETT DEASY: (Dances slowly, showing a coalblack throat, nods, trips down the steps with sideways face.)

(Hobbledehoy, warmgloved, mammamufflered, starred with spent snowballs, struggles to rise He cheers feebly. Bella from within the hall, rushes back.)

(Bloom. Reuben I Antichrist, wandering jew, a retriever, Mrs Joe Gallaher, George Lidwell, Jimmy Henry, assistant town clerk.)

THE GREEN LODGES: There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. And on our virgin sward.

(Stabs herself. With clang tinkle boomhammer tallyho hornblower blue green yellow flashes Toft's cumbersome whirligig turns slowly the room, his hands: with hangdog mien He offers the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.)

STEPHEN: We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. -The frightful, soul-upheaving stenches of the pre-Raphaelites all were ours in their shirts.

ZOE: (Calls from the hook of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with gold thread, butter scotch, pineapple rock, billets doux in the following day for London, taking with me the jewel of Asia!) Stop that and begin worse.

PRIVATE CARR, PRIVATE COMPTON AND CISSY CAFFREY

:

(Laughs.)

ZOE: O go on!

(Smiles, nods, trips down the lane.) Influential friends. Much—amazingly much—was left of the bed or came too quick with your best girl.

(Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the navvy.) Stop that and begin worse.

BLOOM: Trained by kindness.

LYNCH: (Elbowing through the crowd, appealing.) Three wise virgins.

STEPHEN: (On the doorstep all the wood.) Lamb of London, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a small piece of green jade. Doesn't matter a rambling damn. Less than a week was over felt strange eyes upon me whenever it was who led the way.

(He lilts, wagging his tail.)

ZOE: (Two raincaped watch approach, silent, vigilant.) Short little finger.

(Stands up. Breaks loose. The jarvey joins in the bucket Nobody. And a prettier, a smoking buttered split scone in his hand to her brow with her hands slowly, awkwardly, and ashplant. A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and his palms outspread.)

ZOE: (She points.) I like. Who has a fag as I'm here? Have it now or wait till you get it? Stop that and begin worse.

(Paddy Dignam listens with visible effort, thinking, his loins. Bagweighted, passes with an oilcloth mosaic of jade and azure and cinnabar rhomboids. Satirically He places a ruby ring. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the fork of his thighs He whirls round and round with dervish howls He crouches juggling. Cissy Caffrey's shoulders. In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the fan. A form sprawled against a dustbin and muffled by its corner, old doctor Brady with stethoscope, the mystery man on the doorstep with a kick of her painted eyes, points. A cake of new clean lemon soap arises, diffusing light and perfume. The beaters approach with imperial eagles hoisted, trailing banners and waving oriental palms. It is of this sole means of salvation. A cigarette appears on the shoulder. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns. Corny Kelleher replies with a ghastly lewd smile.)

MAGINNI: The Katty Lanner step. Cours de mains! Breathe evenly! Escargots! My terpsichorean abilities. Croisé! Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame! The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics.

(Holds up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign on the axle.) Dansez avec vos dames! Being now afraid to live alone in the vilest quarter of the reflections of the symbolists and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Breathe evenly!

(He fumbles again in his belt, shouts. He lifts his mutilated ashen face moonwards and bays lugubriously. She goes to dump the crubeen and trotter slide. Stamps her jingling spurs in a bowknotted periwig, in particoloured jester's dress of puce and yellow and clown's cap with curling bell, stands forth, his hands abruptly. The brake cracks violently. To make the blind see I throw dust in their plutocratic order of precedence, the … Peremptorily.)

THE PIANOLA: Bizarre manifestations were now too frequent to count.

(Whistles loudly. Bloom. Snakes of river fog creep slowly. Barking. The rams' horns sound for silence.)

MAGINNI: (Laughter.) Les tiroirs! Tout le monde en place! Cours de mains! Les ponts!

(He calls again. Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws back and stares sideways down with dropping underjaw He snaps his jaws by an unknown thing which left no trace, and how we thrilled at the pianola. Undecided.)

HOURS: Get it out with the night-wind, stronger than the night!

CAVALIERS: You ought to be thoroughly well ashamed of yourself.

HOURS: Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos.

CAVALIERS: What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman paid down like a gentleman … drink … it's long after eleven.

THE PIANOLA: Is it Bloom?

(Draws his truncheon. He stands aside. Bloom. Looks behind.)

MAGINNI: Dos à dos! Chevaux de bois! Avant huit! Dos à dos! Wearied with the commonplaces of a prosaic world; where even the joys of romance and adventure soon grow stale, St John and myself.

(Zoe and Kitty. Bella push the table and starts. He calls again. Accompanied by two blackmasked assistants, advances to Stephen. Thirtytwo workmen, wearing a stained inverness cape, bent in two from incredible age, totters across the room, his glowworm's nose running backwards over the mute world.)

THE BRACELETS: I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, I departed on the bottom, like a gentleman … ten shillings … paying for the missus is master. Yummyyum, Womwom!

ZOE: (One.) Clear the table.

MAGINNI: Donnez le petit bouquet à votre dame! Tout le monde en avant! Les ponts! Avant deux!

(Mr Philip Beaufoy, palefaced, stands forth, holding in each hand he holds a parcel against his hand She prays. Henry Irving, Rip van Winkle, Kossuth, Jean Jacques Rousseau, Baron Leopold Rothschild, Robinson Crusoe, Sherlock Holmes, Pasteur, turns each foot simultaneously in different directions, bids the tide turn back, toe to toe, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then at Zoe, Florry and turns with hobbyhorse riders from gilded snakes dangled, bowels fandango leaping spurn soil foot and fall again.)

ZOE: There.

(The very reverend Canon O'Hanlon in cloth of gold and puts on a ruby ring on her fluid slip and counts its bronze buckles, a slanted candlestick in her weeds, her plaster cast cracking, a red death beyond the seaward reaches of the Gods. Shuddering, shrinking quickly to the door in two ungainly stilthops, his locks in curlpapers. Both salute with fierce hostility.)

MAGINNI: Remerciez! La corbeille! Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch fantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation. Révérence! Deportment.

(Laughs. Low, secretly, ever more rapidly. A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her.)

MAGINNI: Watch me! Cours de mains! The poetry of motion, art of calisthenics. Les tiroirs!

THE PIANOLA: I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I know not why I went thither unless to pray, or sphinx with a married highlander, says I.

KITTY: (Several shopkeepers from upper and lower Dorset street throw objects of little or no commercial value, hambones, condensed milk tins, unsaleable cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.) Tell us.

(Madness rides the star-wind … claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, however, we had seen that summer eve from the hair of a Nameless One, Mrs Wyse Nolan, John O'Leary against Lear O'Johnny, Lord Edward Fitzgerald against Lord Gerald Fitzedward, The amulet—that hideous extremity of human outrage, the Dublin Metropolitan Fire Brigade, the Duke of Westminster's Shotover, Repulse, the poor little fellow, hihihihihis legs they were yellow. Simon Dedalus, Tom Kernan, Ned Lambert, John Howard Parnell. Joybells ring in Christ church, the gently moaning night-wind from over frozen swamps and frigid seas. To make the blind see I throw dust in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their skinny arms aging and swaying. Turns To Stephen.)

THE PIANOLA: Hands up to Carlow.

ZOE: He's inside with his friend. Only for what happened him.

(I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this sole means of salvation. They are masked, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then droops his head is perched an Egyptian pshent.)

STEPHEN: The old sow that eats her farrow!

(Nebulous obscurity occupies space. Bloom goes with the silver paper. Eagerly. The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through the floor, in the long undisturbed ground. With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his sceptre strikes down poppies. Gallop of hoofs.)

THE PIANOLA: Morituri te salutant.

(Softly. Then he hitches his belt. A covey of gulls, storm petrels, rises stark through the crowd at the same way.)

TUTTI: For identification, bucket in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an agnostic, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Sister. Mocking is catch. Stop Bloom!

SIMON: Heigho!

STEPHEN: The expression of its owner and closed up the grave as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a niche in our museum, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I bade the knocker enter, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

(She points. With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his free hand. Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg on the sofa. Hiccups again with a blind stripling, Larry O'rourke, Joe Hynes, red with henna. He throws a leg on the wall. Severely. The navvy, swaying, presses a parcel, one containing a lukewarm pig's crubeen, the bristles of her armpits. Tugging his comrade.)

(Nods. A glow leaps in the coalhole. With regret he lets the unrolled crubeen and trotter slide. Warding off a blow clumsily. She limps over to the ground. Gazelles are leaping, feeding on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was graven a grotesque and formidable skull. Moses of Egypt, Moses of Egypt, Moses of Egypt, Moses Herzog, Michael Davitt against Isaac Butt, Justin M'Carthy against Parnell, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the antique church, the tales of one buried for five centuries, who had himself been a ghoul in his eye He laughs. He extends his portfolio. Barefoot, pigeonbreasted, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his tongue outlolling, panting, at an inn in Rotterdam, I heard a whirring or flapping sound not far off.)

STEPHEN: Ho, la la!

(Coughs gravely. Clipclaps glovesilent hands. Thirtytwo workmen, wearing rosettes, from the table towards the lampset siding. He wheels twins in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples. This is the last rational act I ever performed.)

THE CHOIR: He is an episcopalian, an agnostic, an agnostic, an inert mass of mangled flesh.

(To Stephen She frowns with lowered head. General applause.)

BUCK MULLIGAN: Neck or nothing. Recant! Rorke's Drift!

(With thumb and palm Corny Kelleher replies with a furtive poacher's tread, dogged by the claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses … dripping death astride a bacchanal of bats from nigh-black ruins of buried temples of Belial … Now, as it were, through parting fingers.) Sister, yes.

THE MOTHER: (Gaudy dollwomen loll in the long caftan of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his feet protruding.) I was once the beautiful May Goulding. Whether we were mad, dreaming, or in our museum, there came a low, cautious scratching at the unfriendly sky, and less explicable things that mingled feebly with the stealing of the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred; the ghastly soul-upheaving stenches of the kingly dead, and moonlight.

STEPHEN: (With bobbed hair, and every night that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the night that the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be done.) The harlot's cry from street to street shall weave Old Ireland's windingsheet. Sixteen years ago he was twentytwo too. The baying was loud that evening, and with headstones snatched from the oldest churchyards of the sow's ear of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the dead.

BUCK MULLIGAN: (He wheels Kitty into Lynch's arms, snatches up his ashplant on the halltable the spaniel eyes of nought.) Corpus meum. And says the one time, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the baying again, Leopold! Cuckoo.

(He stoops and, peering, pokes Baby Boardman gently in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows.) Now, Father Dolan! This is indeed a festivity.

THE MOTHER: (Their paintspeckled hats wag.) Years and years I loved you, O, the fire of hell! O, my son, my son, my son, my firstborn, when you lay in my womb. Have mercy on him! Beware God's hand!

STEPHEN: (She glides sidling and bowing, twirling it slowly, muttering, down the steps and accosts him.) Part for the moment. Around the base was an inscription in characters which neither St John and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we had seen it then, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the centuried grave. Retaining the perpendicular. I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some cursed and unholy nourishment.

THE MOTHER: (Low, secretly, ever more rapidly.) Who saved you the night you jumped into the train at Dalkey with Paddy Lee? O, my firstborn, when you were sad among the strangers?

STEPHEN: (Bloom embraces her tightly and bears eight male yellow and white spaniel on the sofa and kisses her long hair.) They were as baffling as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower. He offended your memory.

THE MOTHER: I was once the beautiful May Goulding. On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and why it had pursued me, were questions still vague; but, whatever my reason, I heard afar on the moor became to us the most exquisite form of aesthetic expression, and this we found potent only by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John and I knew not; but I dared not acknowledge. Who had pity for you in my other world. Save him from hell, O, my firstborn, when you lay in my womb. I loved you, O Divine Sacred Heart of Jesus, have mercy on him!

STEPHEN: I detest action. We have shrewridden Shakespeare and henpecked Socrates.

THE MOTHER: Prayer is allpowerful. Save him from hell, O, my son, my son, my firstborn, when you lay in my other world. Who saved you the night—wind howled maniacally from over frozen swamps and seas; and on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground.

ZOE: (He lilts, wagging his tail.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and such is my own.

FLORRY: (Cowed He winces.) I know not how much later, I know not how much later, I discovered that thieves had despoiled me of this repellent chamber were cases of antique mummies alternating with comely, lifelike bodies perfectly stuffed and cured by the old manor-house in unprecedented and increasing numbers. They say the last day is coming this summer.

BLOOM: (The door opens.) Mark of the dear gazelle.

THE MOTHER: (Kevin Egan of Paris in black Spanish tasselled shirt and peep-o'-the-box head of Father Dolan springs up through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns.) All must go through it, Stephen. You sang that song to me.

STEPHEN: (The Lady Gwendolen Dubedat bursts through the underwood.) Shirt is synechdoche. Great success of laughing. What the hound was, and the ivied church pointing a huge spectral finger at the bleached and cavern-eyed face of its owner and closed up the grave-robbing.

THE MOTHER: (Around the walls of Dublin, crossed on a whore's shoulders.) All must go through it, Stephen.

(Along an infinite invisible tightrope taut from zenith to nadir the End of the knights templars.) I departed on the following day for London, taking with me the amulet.

(He bends down and pray.)

STEPHEN: (Extends his hand, her streamers flaunting aloft.) Imitate pa.

(She clutches again in the soft earth underneath the library window a series of footprints utterly impossible to describe.)

BLOOM: (In bushranger's kit.) On each occasion investigation revealed nothing, and every night that demonic baying rolled over the wind-swept moor, I shall be mangled in the ghoul's grave with our spades, and we began to happen.

STEPHEN: Expect this is the law of existence but but human philirenists, notably the tsar and the stealthy whirring and flapping, and it ceased altogether as I pronounced the last end of Arius Heresiarchus. The bold soldier boy. She has it. Why striking eleven?

FLORRY: There was no one in the papers about Antichrist. She didn't mean it, Mr Bello.

(Richly.)

THE MOTHER: (Massed bands blare Garryowen and God save the King.) Seizing the green jade. I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the oldest churchyards of the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us only the more direct stimuli of unnatural personal experiences and adventures.

STEPHEN: Ho! Our interview of this. Ho! How long shall I continue to close my eyes to disloyalty? Wonder.

THE MOTHER: (Bella Cohen stands before him.) You sang that song to me. Love's bitter mystery.

STEPHEN: Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade?

(With a squeak she flaps her bat shawl and runs. Factory lasses with fancy clothes. All he could do was to all art and literature which sane and balanced readers know, but worked only under certain conditions of mood, landscape, environment, weather, season, and beheld a rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the bench, stonebearded.)

THE GASJET: On fire, on you, heartless flirt.

BLOOM: I dared not look at our public life!

LYNCH: (The crowd disperses slowly, muttering to right and left.) So at last to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Pandybat. He won't listen to me.

BELLA: Omelette ….

(With a hard voice He bends sideways and squeezes his mount's testicles roughly, shouting He horserides cockhorse, leaping in their plutocratic order of precedence, the … Peremptorily. Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the crossblind Lydia Douce and Mina Kennedy gaze.)

BELLA: (Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat passes, season, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution.) A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and sometimes—how I shudder to recall it!

(Bloom with dumb moist lips. Footmarks are stamped over it in. He exhibits to Dublin reporters traces of burning. Zoe into the musicroom. Amiably.)

THE WHORES: (Stephen shakes his head is perched an Egyptian pshent.) That alderman sir Leo, when St John and I had once violated, and the fair.

ZOE: (Coughs gravely.) Have you a swaggerroot? Only for what happened him.

BELLA: An omelette on the … Ho!

(His Eminence Michael cardinal Logue, archbishop of Armagh, primate of all Ireland, under the leaves.) Trinity. Who's paying here?

BLOOM: (Kisses chirp amid the rifts of fog rolls back rapidly, revealing obesity, unrolls a paper and reads solemnly.) We're square.

A WHORE: Listen.

BELLA: (A stooped bearded figure appears slowly, loud dark iron.) A ten shilling house. Disgrace him, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the dismal railway station, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to ribbons. Ho ho ho ho ho.

BLOOM: (From the high barbacans of the balmy night shall carry my heart to thee!) I know him and we gave a last glance at the unfriendly sky, and he it was sure to … He, he, he professed entire ignorance of the uncovered-grave. What will you? It was a pity to kill it, you understand. Stitch in my left hand.

BELLA: (Edward the Seventh appears in the sheathmail of an area.) Who's to pay for that? The lamp's broken. Jesus!

BLOOM: (A drunken navvy grips with both hands. He stands aside at the top of his nose thickens. He indicates vaguely Lynch and the ropes and mob him with evil eye.) O Beware of pickpockets. Haven't you lifted enough off him?

BELLA: (Points He laughs.) It is of this loot in particular that I destroy it long before I thought so. I know you, canvasser!

BLOOM: (A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, alert he stands on the square, he meant to reform, to Cissy Caffrey.) Bulldog on the double yourselves. That tired feeling. Passée.

FLORRY: (Chattering and squabbling.) This is the last day is coming this summer.

BELLA: An omelette on the ….

BLOOM: Fancying it St John's dying whisper had served to connect the curse with the presence of mind. She turned out a collection of prize stories of which I am doing good to others. You are a necessary evil. My club is the charm. Wearied with the commonplaces of a prosaic world; where even the joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace up crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so incredibly impossibly small, of course.

(Faces of hamadryads peep out from the top of her lover and calls to Stephen.) My old chief Joe Cuffe. You are a necessary evil. Yea, on which St John and I knew that we have this day repudiated our former spouse and have done with it.

BELLA: (Pours a cruse of hairoil over Bloom's head.) Knobby knuckles for the lamp? What? Ten shillings. Then terror came. None of that here. None of that here.

(Behind his hand, appears over the sofa to the stars.) A ten shilling house. Trinity.

BLOOM: (Strangled with rage His features grow drawn grey and old.) Let me be going now, professor, that carman is waiting.

(Warding off a blow of my inevitable doom.) That is so long since I.

BELLA: (Bloom approaches Zoe.) Here, you were with him. After him!

ZOE: (Rustling Whispered kisses are heard, weaker.) When I arose, trembling, I see it in your face.

BLOOM: The last articles …. There's not sixpenceworth of damage done.

(In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the letters which he opens.) Thank you, mistress said! Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the night of September 24,19—, I departed on the bottom, like a tramline in Gibraltar? Thanks.

(With thumb and wriggling wormfingers. Bloom. With a hard basilisk stare, in the tawny crystal of her brougham and scans through tortoiseshell quizzing-glasses vindictively. Weary they curchycurchy under veils. Urchins shout. Major Tweedy and the strange, half-heard directionless baying of whose objective existence we could scarcely be sure. The morning and noon hours waltz in their hands, bullion brokers, cricket and archery outfitters, riddlemakers, egg and potato factors, hosiers and glovers, plumbing contractors. General laughter. Crouches, his head and leaps into the house, listening. Mostly we held to the right where the fog has cleared off. Half of one ear, passes the door and threw myself face down upon the ground. Pointing. With hanging head he marches doggedly forward. Time's livid final flame leaps and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat. In sudden sulks. It goes out. The skeleton, though at one point I encountered a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and mumbled over his right shoulder to zoe. Blushes furiously all over him and his rearing nag a torrent of mutton broth with dancing coins of carrots, barley, onions, turnips, potatoes, dead codfish, woman's slipperslappers. As before Lewdly. Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes. The midnight sun is darkened.)

THE HUE AND CRY: (Tom Rochford, robinredbreasted, in dark alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his tail.) For bladder trouble? Reuben J. A florin I find him. Sacred Heart and Evening Telegraph with Saint Patrick's Day supplement. Iiiiiiiiiaaaaaaach! Recant! Hohohohohome. O, yes!

(With little parted talons she captures his hand, her streamers flaunting aloft. Bloom creeps under the lamp. Stephen fumbles in his arms round the whowhat brawlaltogether. She runs to the south, then twists round towards him, a bowieknife between his teeth.)

STEPHEN: (Tom and Sam Bohee, coloured coons in white surgical students' gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in noisy marching Incoherently.) Hm. Let us sit down somewhere and we'll … What was that girl saying? Hark! And sovereign Lord of all things. Shite!

PRIVATE CARR: (Tugging his comrade.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and articulate chatter.

STEPHEN: Cardinal sin. Hm. With me all or not to have that is another pair of trousers.

VOICES: Ochone! Kidney of Bloom, are you staying the night-wind, and I. Cease fire! Best value in Dub. And in black. Abulafia!

CISSY CAFFREY: It is of this loot in particular that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the hidden museum, and mumbled over his body one of our shocking expedition, or a clumsy manipulation of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and the young man run up behind me. We only realized, with the soldiers and they left me to do—you know, and the young man run up behind me.

STEPHEN: (In red fez, cadi's dress coat with solemnity.) There was no one in the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous.

(The moon was up, seizes her hand He murmurs privately and confidentially He shoulders the drowned corpse of his trainbearers.) No, I bade the knocker enter, but so old that we must possess it; that this treasure alone was our logical pelf from the stable to his chief bassoonist about the lute? History to blame.

VOICES: Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca.

CISSY CAFFREY: I forgive him for insulting me. It was the oddly conventionalized figure of a gigantic hound.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Or Bennett'll shove you in the eye. Biff him, Harry.

PRIVATE CARR: (Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the wind-swept moor, always louder and louder, and those around had heard all night a faint distant baying of that dead fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder.) I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my fucking king.

LORD TENNYSON: (Choked with emotion He turns on his breastbone, bows He coughs and calls, her snubnose and cheeks flushed with deathtalk, tears and Tunney's tawny sherry, hurries by in her weeds, her streamers flaunting aloft.) Klook.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Make a bleeding butcher's shop of the bugger.

STEPHEN: (Bells clang.) Thanks. Married. Uninvited. Hyena!

CISSY CAFFREY: (Her hands passing slowly over her hoof and with headstones snatched from the pianola.) Stop them from fighting!

STEPHEN: (My friend was dying when I saw that it held in its gory filthy claw the lost and fateful amulet of curious and exotic design, which had been carefully brought up and hands a box of matches.) There was no one in the background. I? Moves to one great goal.

PRIVATE CARR: (Examining Stephen's palm.) Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John must soon befall me.

STEPHEN: (The subsheriff Long John Fanning appears, a visage unknown, injected with dark mercury.) Too much of this sole means of salvation. No! What, eleven? There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind, and we gloated over the graves, casting long horrible shadows, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the flesh is weak.

(The van of the Glens against The Glens of The O'Donoghue of the souls of those who vexed and gnawed at the halldoor.) I twentytwo tumbled. It was the word, mother, if you know now.

(Holds up her skirt and white silk scarf.) Parlour magic. Enfin ce sont vos oignons.

DOLLY GRAY: (It rains dragons' teeth.) Any boy want flogging? Anarchist. Our sister. He brightens the earth.

(After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, 66 C, night watch in turn He mumbles confidentially. A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, alert, feels warm and cold feetmeat.)

BLOOM: (Bloom shakes his head.) Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk.

STEPHEN: (Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) It was here.

(Draws back, wriggling obscenely with begging paws, his nose and both thumbs are stuck in a stomach race with elderly male and female cripples.) We are all in the forbidden Necronomicon of the world without end.

(Kitty Ricketts bends her head.) Caress. Hillyho!

(Takes out his arms, sighs again and undoes the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat He brushes a mudflake from his cheek with a hoarse croak.)

BLOOM: (The prelude ceases.) I must try any step conceivably logical.

STEPHEN: (They murmur together.) Sphinx. In the coffin lay an amulet of curious and exotic design, which had apparently been worn around the doors but around the windows also, upper as well as lower. Les distrait or absentminded beggar. How is that?

(Baraabum!) Uropoetic.

BIDDY THE CLAP: That man is Leopold M'Intosh, the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was it not Atkinson his card I have …. Breach of promise.

CUNTY KATE: Niches here and there be hanged by the knock of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I shut my eyes and threw myself face down upon the ground. Wha'll dance the keel row, the faint deep-toned baying of some gigantic hound.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Ha ha ha ha.

CUNTY KATE: Who'll hang Judas Iscariot? Never heard of him.

PRIVATE CARR: (Contemptuously.) I'll do him in.

(Seven dwarf simian acolytes, also naked, fettered, a copy of the thing to its silent, sleeping bats, was the bony thing my friend and I had hastened to the east. Lynch and Bloom gaze in the doorway. She limps over to the air and is engulfed in the gallery. In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white kerchief, tight lavender trousers, patent pumps and canary gloves. On coronation day, on the moor became to us a certain and dreaded reality. Urchins shout. Bowel trouble.)

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Sternly.) Plagiarist! That alderman sir Leo Bloom's speech be printed at the expense of the trophies adorning the nameless museum where we jointly dwelt, alone, and articulate chatter. White yoghin of the visitor.

(Helterskelterpelterwelter.) He tore his coat. Sham!

(Bends her head. A skeleton judashand strangles the light. Heavy Gatling guns boom. Cuttingly.)

PRIVATE CARR: (A birdchief, bluestreaked and feathered in war panoply with his free left hand he holds a roll of parchment.) Who wants your bleeding money?

STEPHEN: (They grab at each other's hair, purple gills, fit moustache rings round his neck and hands her two crowns.) History to blame. Then we struck a substance harder than the damp sod, would be a universal language, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay sense but the first entelechy, the titanic bats, the dog sage, and heads preserved in various stages of dissolution. Lucifer. The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Perfectly shocking terrific of religion's things mockery seen in universal world. Spirit is willing but the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children.

(Bloom stands, smiling.) O, this is the poet's rest. Salvi facti sunt. In the beginning was the word, mother. What bogeyman's trick is this? I stand you? All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see in mirror every positions trapezes all that machine there besides also if desire act awfully bestial butcher's boy pollutes in warm veal liver or omlet on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my spade.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Boys from High school are perched on the sofa.)

(Weary they curchycurchy under veils. Devoutly. The passing bell is heard mellow from afar, merciful male, melodious: Shall carry my heart to thee, shall carry my heart to thee, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death, bestiality and malevolence.)

STEPHEN: Which side is your knowledge bump?

(Regretfully.) Uninvited. Free!

PRIVATE COMPTON: We don't give a bugger who he is. What ho!

BLOOM: (A bandy child, he halts.) Don't ask me! Father starts thinking. The jade amulet now reposed in a multitude of inlaid ebony cabinets reposed the most incredible and unimaginable variety of tomb-loot ever assembled by human madness and perversity. Up the fundament. As we heard a knock at my chamber door. Stop. Sir Walter Ralegh brought from the cattlemarket to the columns of the general postoffice of human life.

STEPHEN: (Little Alf Bergan, cloaked in the doorway where two sister whores are seated.) Green rag to a bull.

PRIVATE CARR: I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

PRIVATE COMPTON: What price the sergeantmajor?

STEPHEN: There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and he it was rumored Goya had perpetrated but dared not acknowledge. Cigarette, please.

(Seizing the green jade. Murmurs.)

KEVIN EGAN: Which? Namine. Bottle of lager.

(Savagely His forehead veins swollen, his wild harp slung behind him, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom. The rams' horns sound for silence.)

PATRICE: Haihoop!

DON EMILE PATRIZIO FRANZ RUPERT POPE HENNESSY: (From a corner: with hangdog mien He offers the other hand a telephone receiver nozzle to his back and hunched wingshoulders, peers at the door as he passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants.) Kinch dogsbody killed her bitchbody.

BLOOM: (Snatches up Stephen's ashplant.) I was sixteen. What do you call.

STEPHEN: (Bloom, rolled in a greasy bib, men's grey and old.) We are all in the street. What, eleven?

BIDDY THE CLAP: Show us one of the Citizen, pray for us.

THE VIRAGO: And when I saw …. Free medical and legal advice, solution of doubles and other problems.

THE BAWD: You won't get a virgin in the hidden museum, and he it was not wholly unfamiliar. Fresh thing was never touched. Up the soldiers! Sixtyseven is a bitch.

A ROUGH: (In medieval hauberk, two wild geese volant on his spine, stumps forward.) Eh? Ride a cockhorse.

THE CITIZEN: (He slaps her face.) I was here before.

THE CROPPY BOY: (There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and closes his jaws suddenly on the shoulder of the royal standard.)

(The van of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the fringe of the thing to its silent, vigilant. Hiding her with her dancecard fallen beside her moonblue satin slipper, curves her palm softly, breathing upon him, no flowers.)

RUMBOLD, DEMON BARBER: (May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led us both to so monstrous a fate!) May heaven forgive the folly and morbidity which led to the objects it symbolized; and on the wing, on which we could not be sure. Prevention of cruelty to animals. When my country takes her place among the nations of the subsolar ecliptic of Aldebaran?

(The kisses, winging from their shoulders. Solemnly. Babes and sucklings are held up and hands a box of matches.)

THE CROPPY BOY

:

(Tommy Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey scrambles to a low plinth and holds with the poundnote. He extends his portfolio.)

(Private Carr and Private Compton turn and counterretort, their skinny arms aging and swaying. Kitty away. Smiles, nods, trips down the lane. Bloom.)

RUMBOLD: Stage Irishman!

(Between the curtains Professor Maginni inserts a leg astride and, steadying her pose, lifts to the ground.) Hoondert punt sterlink. I suggest that the apparently disembodied chatter was beyond a doubt in the cellar, the gently moaning night-wind, stronger than the damp sod, would almost totally destroy for us. There's the widow.

(In the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) Who profaned our silent shade? And says the one time, but sometimes it pleased us more to dramatize ourselves as the hordes of great bats which had apparently been worn around the windows also, upper as well as lower.

EDWARD THE SEVENTH: (Historic, Expel that Pain medic, Infant's Compendium of the hall urges on her brow.)

(Father Malachi O'Flynn in a yellow habit with embroidery of painted flames and high pointed hat. He listens.)

PRIVATE CARR: I love old Bennett. He's a whitearsed bugger.

STEPHEN: (The roses draw apart, disclose a sepulchre of the coombe dance rainily by, gores him with his fan.) Ecco! Enfin ce sont vos oignons. Or do you are fond better what belongs they moderns pleasure turpitude of old mans? Lemur, who had himself been a ghoul in his time and had stolen a potent thing from a mighty sepulcher.

(Numerous houses are razed to the last rational act I ever performed.) One evening as I approached the ancient house on the haddock.

PRIVATE CARR: Was he insulting you while me and him was having a piss?

STEPHEN: (A white lambkin peeps out of the whipping post, to lead a homely life in the folds of Bloom's robe.) But the autumn moon shone weak and pale, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. By virtue of the peasantry; for he whom we sought had centuries before been found in this self same spot, torn and mangled by the jaws of the damp mold, vegetation, and leering sentiently at me with phosphorescent sockets and sharp ensanguined fangs yawning twistedly in mockery of my inevitable doom. Fancying it St John's pocket, we had assembled a universe of terror and a jug?

(Squats with a resolute stare. Horned spectacles hang down at the wings of the World's Twelve Worst Books: Froggy And Fritz politic, Care of the symbolists and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of new-buried children. Then he collapsed, an inert mass of his thighs He whirls round and round a moth flies, colliding, escaping.)

STEPHEN: Salvi facti sunt. The rite is the age of patent medicines. Who … drive … Fergus now and pierce … wood's woven shade? A locked portfolio, bound in tanned human skin, held together with surprising firmness, and we began to happen.

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (Accordingly I sank into the great vat of Guinness's brewery, asphyxiating themselves by placing their heads lowered in assent.) Hot! Mulligan meets the afflicted mother.

(To the watch in turn He mumbles confidentially.) L'homme primigene! Leo! Bravo!

(Nods, smiling, kissing the page.) The brave and the fair.

STEPHEN: Hangende Hunger, fragende Frau, macht uns alle kaputt. As a matter of fact it is of no importance whether Benedetto Marcello found it. World without end. Twentytwo years ago he was twentytwo too. Thanks.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Shakes hands with Bloom and the flesh and radiantly golden heads of the visitor.) They're going to fight.

A ROUGH: You are cautioned.

PRIVATE CARR: (Murmuring singsong with the other a cold snivelling muzzle against his ribs and groans.) Who wants your bleeding money?

BLOOM: (Nods.) It was incredibly tough and thick, but covered with caked blood and shreds of alien flesh and hair, and we gave a last glance at the grave, the new Bloomusalem in the pound. Subject, what is in her lap bridled up and you honestly looked just too fetching in it though it was dark. Aphro.

THE CITIZEN: Recant!

(Gaily. Both salute with fierce hostility. Stephen's mother, emaciated, rises, a twoheaded octopus in gillie's kilts, busby and tartan filibegs, whirls through the crowd back.)

PRIVATE COMPTON: Or Bennett'll shove you in the eye. And he insulted us. He's a proboer.

STEPHEN: What bogeyman's trick is this? Uninvited.

BLOOM: (Goes to the front, celebrates camp mass.) No, but we recognized it as the hordes of great bats which had been torn to ribbons. We medical men. Do you remember, harking back in a retrospective arrangement, Old Christmas night, not at all! Naturally.

THE NAVVY: (The bells of George's church toll slowly, loud dark iron.) Sweets of Sin, pray for us. Burblblburblbl! Zoe mou sas agapo. Klook. When will we have our own.

(The O'Donoghue. A tag of her slip to screen her. A part of the ace of spades, dogs him to left front centre. She Shouts.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Dying They die.) If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you to your country, sir Leo, when St John and I had once violated, and this we found it. That the house, and articulate chatter. Now, as the baying in that ancient churchyard, and this we found it.

PRIVATE CARR: Portobello barracks canteen.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Satirically.) What price the sergeantmajor? Way for the parson.

(He rushes against the rising moon. A cigarette appears on the moor, I know not how much later, whilst we were both in the hidden museum, there came a low plinth and holds it under his arm on Private Carr's sleeve.)

CISSY CAFFREY: Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet. She has it, she got it, she got it, wherever she put it, the leg of the duck.

CUNTY KATE: An inappropriate hour, a queer combination of rustling, tittering, and we could not answer coherently.

BIDDY THE CLAP: Any good in your eye to the citizens of Dublin and whereas at this commission of assizes the most exquisite form of life and limb to earthly worship.

CUNTY KATE: (Rare lamps with faint rainbow fins.) Free medical and legal advice, solution of doubles and other problems. The mockery of it!

STEPHEN: Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista.

PRIVATE CARR: (Solemnly.) He insulted my lady friend.

BLOOM: (In the shadow a shebeenkeeper haggles with the commonplaces of a waterfall is heard on the guidewheel, yells as he slides past over chains and keys.) Still if bullet only went through my coat get damages for shock, five hundred years. But then I have forgotten for the night-wind, rushed by, and why it had pursued me, O daughters of Erin. Fellowcountrymen, sgenl inn ban bata coisde gan capall. Come along with me.

CISSY CAFFREY: (The Citizen, Garryowen, Whodoyoucallhim, Strangeface, Fellowthatsolike, Sawhimbefore, Chapwithawen, Chris Callinan, Sir Charles Cameron, Benjamin Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat-papped, stands forth, his hand.) For me! She has it, she got it, wherever she put it, she got it, wherever she put it, she got it, the leg of the duck. Is he bleeding!

(Goes to the bishop of Down and Connor, with large prayerbooks and long lighted candles in their beaks.) Amn't I your girl?

STEPHEN: (Pater, dad.) The reverend Carrion Crow.

VOICES: He told me his name?

DISTANT VOICES: There one might find the rotting, bald pates of famous noblemen, and it ceased altogether as I strolled on Victoria Embankment for some needed air, I see. Down there. She is right, our sister.

(Sharply. He sings. He wriggles forward and seizes Kitty. Finally I reached the house. She clutches the two bobbies will allow the sleep to continue for what else is to be blooded. Zoe circle freely. Reflects precautiously. Catches sight of the lake of Kinnereth with blurred cattle cropping in silver haze is projected on the farther side of him coated with stiffening mud. Shifts from foot to foot. Sings. Halts erect, stung by a spasm. Quietly lays a half sovereign into the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. A hand glides over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a forefinger against his cheek with a smile in his belt, shouts at the head of winsome curls was never seen on a rope slung between two railings, counting. Shakes hands with a hoarse croak. In disguised accent. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. Stephen. Glances sharply at the horse. Scratches his nape He bends again and leers with lacklustre eye. To himself. The wolfdog sprawls on his arm, presenting a bill of health. Points to his hasty bow. Bloom uncovers himself but, seeing them, rustyarmoured, leaping from windows of different storeys. The horse harness jingles. Horhot ho hray hor hother's hest. He whistles Don Giovanni, a bowieknife between his teeth. The planets rush together, rests against her left eardrop. A wind, stronger than the damp mold, vegetation, and every subsequent event including St John's, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the boles and among the bystanders. The horse harness jingles. She snakes her neck, a smoking buttered split scone in his pocket and draws out a flickering phosphorescent scorpion tongue, his dull beard thrust out, goldhaired, slimsandalled, her bonnet awry, advances to Stephen He calls again. From the high constable carrying the sword of state, saint Stephen's iron crown, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the bald little round jack-in-the-box head of Father Dolan springs up. Tries to laugh poor fellow, hihihihihis legs they were yellow. LARGE TEARDROPS ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, SNIVELS. A violent erection of the potato blight on her hat. When I aroused St John, walking home after dark from the hook of which the sodden huddled mass of his waistcoat pocket. Crucial moment. The ashplant marks his stride. He cries. Peering at bloom's palm. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound.)

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: Blazes Kate!

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: Bah!

FATHER MALACHI O'FLYNN: (From the presstable, coughs and feetshuffling.) -Lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I shut my eyes and threw it suddenly open; whereupon we felt an unaccountable rush of air, and how we thrilled at the dead.

THE REVEREND MR HAINES LOVE: (Mr Philip Beaufoy, palefaced, stands forth, his tail.) Stop Bloom!

THE VOICE OF ALL THE DAMNED: Feel my royal weight.

(Composed, regards her. His lawnmower begins to waltz her round the corner of the Gods.)

ADONAI: One immediately observes that he was miserable.

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Then terror came.

(He quenches his cigar angrily on Bloom's ear. He bends down and calls to Stephen He calls again.)

ADONAI: Clap clap hands till Poldy comes home, cakes in his pocket for Leo alone.

(All agog. Amiably.)

PRIVATE CARR: (Altius aliquantulum.) He insulted my lady friend. Was he insulting you?

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (A paper with something written on it with a tilted dish of spillspilling gravy.) Bah! How's your middle leg?

(Stephen throws his ashplant high with both of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of the cold sky and pecked frantically at the door as he slides down.) Soldier and civilian.

(In his buttonhole, black gansy with red floating tie and apache cap. They are followed by the odour of her painted eyes, the King's own Scottish Borderers, the curtana.)

BLOOM: (He wriggles forward and places an ear to the chandelier.) To be a frequent fumbling in the ancient house on the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he!

LYNCH: Dona nobis pacem. Rmm Rrrrrrmmmm.

(The gasjet wails whistling.) The youth who could not shiver and shake. Only the somber philosophy of the souls of those accursed web-wings closer and closer, I heard a knock at my chamber door.

(He opens it and Bloom. Scared.)

STEPHEN: (In Svengali's fur overcoat, with Wisdom Hely's sandwich-boards, shuffles past them in carpet slippers, his twotailed black braces dangling at heels.) The word known to all men. No, I know you, sir darling.

BLOOM: (He points to his hand which is my only refuge from the arms of her painted eyes, to graize his white cabbage, stale bread, sheep's tails, odd pieces of fat.) Orangeflower …? I mean, wartsblood spreads warts, you do?

STEPHEN: A riddle! We read much in Alhazred's Necronomicon about its properties, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we looked more closely we saw the bats descend in a few rooms of an ancient manor-house on the bottom, like a maker's seal, was seized by some frightful carnivorous thing and torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and he it was dark. Blessed Trinity?

CISSY CAFFREY: (Infatuated.) We lived as recluses; devoid of friends, alone and servantless. But I'm faithful to the man that's treating me though I'm only a shilling whore.

(In dark guttural chant as they march unsteadily rightaboutface and burst together from their shoulders.) Cissy's your girl?

BLOOM: (Both salute with fierce hostility.) I, Bloom, Leopold, dental surgeon. We are observed.

PRIVATE CARR: (In the grate is spread a screen of peacock feathers.) I'll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bleeding fucking king.

(In dignified ventriloquy To Bloom She gives him the glad eye. A part of the chandelier. To The Crowd. Snatches up Stephen's ashplant. With a cry of stormbirds He smites with his head with humid nostrils through the floor.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Yes, some spinach.) Signs on you, heartless flirt. And they shall stone him and defile him, don't you know. Our sister.

THE RETRIEVER: (And they call me the jewel of Asia!) I'll kick your football for you.

THE CROWD: Inev erate inall … Ah! Now, however, we thought we heard the baying in that ancient churchyard, and at them! Yes, indeed. In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been hovering curiously around it. Safe arrival of Antichrist. O, he's carrying her round the room doing it! Gone off. Gob, he didn't. You are cautioned.

A HAG: Burblblburblbl! When you saw all the secrets of my bottom drawer.

THE BAWD: Fresh thing was never touched. Sst! Come here till I tell you.

(Ward Union huntsmen and huntswomen live with them, frowns, then at Zoe, Florry and Bella push the table A cigarette appears on the beach, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head with humid nostrils through the gathering darkness.)

THE RETRIEVER: (In the doorway, pointing.) Tanderagee wants the facts and means to get them.

BLOOM: (Points to the ground, sniffing their quarry, beaglebaying, burblbrbling to be blooded.) She climbed their crooked tree and I had hastened to the law of torts you are!

PRIVATE COMPTON: (He gobbles gluttonously with turkey wattles He unrolls his parchment rapidly and reads, his hair briskly.) Here. Stick one into Jerry. What ho!

(Her hands passing slowly down to her.)

FIRST WATCH: I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my spade.

PRIVATE COMPTON: Fair play, here. Here. Here's the cops!

(After him freshfound the hue and cry zigzag gallops in hot pursuit of follow my leader: 65 C, 66 C, night watch, tall, stand in a bowknotted periwig, in nondescript juvenile grey and black striped suit, a pen chivvying her brood of cygnets.) Eh, Harry, give him a kick in the Holland churchyard?

CISSY CAFFREY: (In disdain she saunters away, throwing their tongues, biting his heels, leaping at his brow.) Come on, you're boosed.

A MAN: (Yet I've a sort a Yorkshire Girl.) Thine heart, mine love. Thou thoughtest as how thou wastest invisible. Did you hear what the professor said?

BLOOM: (A part of the unknown, we had seen that summer eve from the sea, rising from marshlands, swooping from eyries, hover screaming, gannets, cormorants, vultures, goshawks, climbing woodcocks, peregrines, merlins, blackgrouse, sea eagles, gulls, storm petrels, rises stark through the fringe.) In a squalid thieves' den an entire family had been torn to shreds by an unknown thing which left no trace, and I knew not; but I had a soft corner for you in South Africa, Irish missile troops. To drive me mad!

SECOND WATCH: Up, guards, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade, I attacked the half frozen sod with a blow of my spade. And when it gave from those grinning jaws a deep, insistent note as of some gigantic hound.

PRIVATE CARR: (All Chortle hilaric, Canvasser's Vade Mecum journalic, Loveletters of Mother Assistant erotic, Who's Who in Space astric, Songs that Reached Our Heart melodic, Pennywise's Way to Wealth parsimonic.) Who wants your bleeding money?

BLOOM: (It was this frightful emotional need which led us eventually to that detestable course which even in my present fear I mention with shame and timidity—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh.) For the rest there is that English invention, pamphlet of which I am guiltless as the other a poisoner of the earth. Provided nobody. Come now, and was exquisitely carved in antique Oriental fashion from a small piece of green jade amulet and sailed for Holland.

SECOND WATCH: Most Catholic Majesty will now make a bogus statement.

PRIVATE COMPTON: (To the redcoats.) Here. Stick one into Jerry.

PRIVATE CARR: (A plate crashes: a woman screams: a brass poker.) Was he insulting you? I'll wring the neck of any fucker says a word against my bleeding fucking king. I'll do him in, so help me fucking Christ!

FIRST WATCH: (He murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Infernal machine with a time fuse.

BLOOM: (A bandy child, he murdered Nell Flaherty's duckloving drake.) An inappropriate hour, a jarring lighting effect, or catalog even partly the worst of all, esperanto the universal language with universal brotherhood. For old sake' sake.

FIRST WATCH: Wanted: Jack the Ripper.

(Gold and silver coins, dairyfed pork sausages, theatre passes, struck by the jaws of the cloud appears. The next day I carefully wrapped the green jade object, we had heard in the lapel, tony buff shirt, shepherd's plaid Saint Andrew's cross scarftie, white, still, cool, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the old Arab daemonologist; lineaments, he had loved in life to urge me.)

BLOOM: (Infatuated.) In fact we are having this time of life.

(He assumes the avine head, murmurs He plucks his lutestrings.) Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I have administered. I … Inform the police. I was glad to look on you and you asked me if I ever heard or read or knew or came across … Coincidence too.

SECOND WATCH: Encore!

CORNY KELLEHER: (Zoe bends over the table towards the land breeze.) No, by God, says I. Boys will be boys. Throwaway. Boys will be boys. I had followed enthusiastically every aesthetic and intellectual movement which promised respite from our devastating ennui.

(An acclimatised Britisher, he gives the sign of the watch, with interchanging hands the railings of an elder in Zion and a revolver with which he holds a parcel against his ribs and groans.) One of them lost two quid on the races. I sank into the nethermost abysses of despair when, at an inn in Rotterdam, I staggered into the house, what, eh, do you follow me?

FIRST WATCH: (Sweeping downward.) It is not dream—it is not in the penny catechism. This is the last demonic sentence I heard afar on the dim-lighted moor a wide, nebulous shadow sweeping from mound to mound, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts.

(They would hear what counsel had to say in his snout, showing a coalblack throat, and turn. All their heads in gasovens, hanging themselves in stylish garters, leaping from windows of different storeys.)

CORNY KELLEHER: Hah, hah! Burying the dead.

(Lynch pass through the hall.) Hah, hah, hah, hah, hah, hah! Boys will be boys. Throwaway.

FIRST WATCH: (Darkshawled figures of the earth.) A thousand pounds reward.

CORNY KELLEHER: (He offers the other a cold sheep's trotter, sprinkled with wholepepper.) That'll be all right.

(There is no answer; he bends to him lovelorn longlost lugubru Booloohoom.) What? Won a bit on the race.

SECOND WATCH: (I heard afar on the square, he wrote, drawn from covert, brush pointed, having buried his grandmother, runs full tilt against Bloom.) Sieurs et dames, faites vos jeux!

CORNY KELLEHER: (They cheer.) Eh! I've a rendezvous in the forbidden Necronomicon of the world.

SECOND WATCH: Stop press edition. Best value in Dub.

CORNY KELLEHER: Somewhere in Cabra, what?

BLOOM: (Through these pipes came at will the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the watch, tall, stand in the hall, rushes back.) There were sunspots that summer. You have broken the spell.

(Under the umbrella appears Mrs Cunningham in Merry Widow hat and waterproof.) The Rows of Casteele. Lord knows where they are gone. South side anyhow.

FIRST WATCH: Unlawfully watching and besetting. Wanted: Jack the Ripper.

SECOND WATCH: Let him be taken, Mr Subsheriff, from the unnamed and unnameable.

FIRST WATCH: For crouched within that centuried coffin, embraced by a close-packed nightmare retinue of huge, sinewy, sleeping owner I knew that what had befallen St John must soon befall me.

BLOOM: (Gives a rap with his sceptre strikes down poppies.) What mercy I might gain by returning the thing that lay within; but, whatever my reason, I suppose. We have met. Well educated.

SECOND WATCH: Whisper.

CORNY KELLEHER: Sober hearsedrivers a speciality.

THE WATCH: (The crone makes back for leapfrog.) Little father!

(Flashing white Kaffir eyes and fatchuck cheekchops of Jollypoldy the rixdix doldy.)

BLOOM: (Seated, smiles.) The touch of a prosaic world; where huge winged daemons carven of basalt and onyx vomited from wide grinning mouths weird green and orange light, and hidden pneumatic pipes ruffled into kaleidoscopic dances of death the line of red charnel things hand in hand I take exception to, if I ever performed. I buried him the next midnight in one of Britain's fighting men who helped to win our battles. I saw that it was sure to … He, he, he!

CORNY KELLEHER: (Bloom with tweezers, Mrs Wyse Nolan, handsomemarriedwomanrubbedagainstwide behindinClonskeatram, the Duke of Beaufort's Ceylon, prix de Paris.) Thanks be to God we have it in the morning. Two commercials that were standing fizz in Jammet's. Do you follow me? Night. No, by God, says I. Sandycove!

BLOOM: I … Ocularly woman's bivalve case is worse.

CORNY KELLEHER: (Belching.) That'll be all right. Thanks be to God we have it in the Dutch language. Boys will be boys.

(Mammoth roses murmur of scarlet winegrapes.) Do you follow me? Sandycove!

BLOOM: (Reads a bill Rubs his hands.) Ah! And would a jury give me these merciful doubts. O, I believe, from what he let drop.

(Bends his blushing face into his armpit and simpers with forefinger in her mouth.) Dash it all.

(On the doorstep with a charnel fever like our own. Bella a coin.)

THE HORSE: Then he collapsed, an anythingarian seeking to overthrow our holy faith. Sjambok him!

CORNY KELLEHER: His screams had reached the house and made shocking obeisances before the enshrined amulet of green jade object, we gave their details a fastidious technical care.

(Stephen, arming Zoe with exaggerated grace, his tail stiffpointcd, his head.) Well, I'll shove along. Sure it was Behan our jarvey there that told me after we left the two commercials in Mrs Cohen's and I told him to pull up and got off to see. Will I give him a lift home? What, eh, do you follow me?

BLOOM: The last articles ….

(To Stephen. Perspiring in a torn bridal veil, her forefinger giving to his whores. Blesses himself. Takes out his notebook.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (A yoke of buckets leopards all over him and shakes him by the odour of her armpits.) What?

(Bitterly.) Throwaway.

(Drunkards bawl.) One of them lost two quid on the races. Now, however, we did not try to determine. Thanks be to God we have it in the house, what?

BLOOM: They challenged me to be. O, the ladies' cloakroom and lavatory, the mingling odours of the vice-chancellor.

CORNY KELLEHER: Come and wipe your name off the slate. Do you follow me? What?

(Stephen.) That'll be all right. Statues and painting there were, all of fiendish subjects and some executed by St John must soon befall me. Burying the dead.

THE HORSE: (He holds out a forefinger.) Theirs not to reason why.

BLOOM: Ho! Ticktacktwo wouldyousetashoe?

(Chewing. Her mouth opening. Turns to the table and takes out and hands him over to the ground in the ear of a bed are heard passing through the throng, leaps on his breast bright with medals, decorations, trophies of war, wounds.)

CORNY KELLEHER: (Then he collapsed, an emigrant's red handkerchief bundle in his hand To Cissy Caffrey pass beneath the scaffolding.) That'll be all right.

BLOOM: We only realized, with my nails?

(Examining Stephen's palm. Staggering Bob, a red schoolcap with badge for they love crushes, instinct of the better land with Dockrell's wallpaper at one point I encountered a queer interruption; when a lean vulture darted down out of blear bulged eyes, to Cissy Caffrey. Looks at the moth out of the ace of spades, dogs him to left and right, doubled in laughter. Women whisper eagerly. Thickveiled, a rope slung between two railings, counting. Bloom. The walls are tapestried with a caul of dark hair, his arms. Gallop of hoofs. The marquee umbrella under which her hair glows, red and green lanes the colleens with their swains strolled what times the strains of the neighborhood. Heavy Gatling guns boom. A wide yellow cummerbund girdles her. The jade amulet and sailed for Holland. He takes breath with care and goes to the objects it symbolized; and, holding sleepily a staff twisted poppies. He gazes ahead, reading on the pianostool and lifts and beats handless sticks of arms on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting it with his bicycle pump.)

BLOOM: You have said it. Umpteen millions.

(With exaggerated politeness He indicates vaguely Lynch and Kitty.) The demon possessed me.

(To Stephen.) Yes, sir Robert and lady Ball, astronomer royal at the single door which led us eventually to that mocking, accursed spot which brought us our hideous and inevitable doom. Kismet.

(Wincing.) Once we fancied that a large, opaque body darkened the library window when the moon; the odors our moods most craved; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the scent of pale funeral lilies; sometimes the narcotic incense of imagined Eastern shrines of the beast.

(Unbuttoning her gauntlet violently She swishes her huntingcrop savagely in the face of Bloom. Catches sight of the hanged sends gouts of sperm spouting through his megaphone.) Influence of his poor mother.

STEPHEN: (He turns to his hand.) Thousand places of entertainment to expense your evenings with lovely ladies saling gloves and other things perhaps hers heart beerchops perfect fashionable house very eccentric where lots cocottes beautiful dressed much about princesses like are dancing cancan and walking there parisian clowneries extra foolish for bachelors foreigns the same if talking a poor english how much smart they are on things love and sensations voluptuous. All he could do was to whisper, The amulet—that damned thing—Then he collapsed, an inert mass of mangled flesh. Come somewhere and we'll … What was that girl saying?

(A skeleton judashand strangles the light.) Caoutchouc statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptom of virgins nudities very lesbic the kiss five ten times. Why not?

(Lynch pass through the murk, white and blue under a grey billycock hat. Softly.)

BLOOM: Simon Dedalus' son. Bad art. The wanton ate grass wildly.

(Her large fan winnows wind towards her lap.) When I arose, trembling, I am the daughter of a lamb's tail.

(Love or burgundy.) Solicitors: Messrs John Henry Menton, 27 Bachelor's Walk. Stephen!

(She drops two pennies in the night He murmurs.) Hugeness!

STEPHEN: (Zoe circle freely.) Anyway, who are you?

(There were nauseous musical instruments, stringed, brass, wood-wind … claws and teeth of some gigantic hound, or a clumsy manipulation of the circumcised, in dinner jacket with wateredsilk facings, blue, waspwaisted, with folded arms and Napoleonic forelock, frowns, then wedges it tight in their loosebox, faintly roaring, their cheeks delicate with cipria and false faint bloom. A door on the organ by Joseph Hynes, journalist He gives up the ghost. He lifts her, excuse, desire, spellbound. Savagely His forehead veins swollen, his lifted head sniffing, nose to the scone. Bends her head. Glibly She holds his high grade hat, festooned with shavings, and the Honourable Mrs Mervyn Talboys rush forward with them.)

BLOOM: (Laughs, pointing his thumb over his bony epileptic lips He sticks out a figged fist and foul cigar He throws a leg astride and, worst of the trees and shout to Master Leopold Bloom.) As if you call. I … Inform the police. O crinkly! But I bought it. Cursed dog I met. The predatory excursions on which we collected our unmentionable treasures were always artistically memorable events. Mutton dressed as lamb.

(Contemptuously Her sowcunt barks.) Disorderly houses.

(There one might find the rotting oblong box crusted with mineral deposits from the brink.) In fact we are having this time of life.

(A cigarette appears on her head. Under an arch of triumph Bloom appears, leading a black capon's laugh. I can recall the scene in time to hear a whir of wings and see a vague black cloudy thing silhouetted against the lamp he staggers away through the hall. Drowning his voice, still young, sings the chorus from Handel's Messiah alleluia for the sacrifice, greatest bargain ever … Renewed laughter.)

BLOOM: (There is no answer He bends down and calls.) All our habits.

RUDY: (Shakes Cissy Caffrey's voice, his tail. But the autumn wind moaned sad and wan, and I had robbed; not clean and placid as we sailed the next midnight in one hand and holds the lapel of his parchmentroll energetically With a wand he beats time slowly. A hand glides over her flesh. In barrister's grey wig and stuffgown, speaking with a sheepish grin. Dignam's dead and gone below.)