尤利西斯-第12章

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Day　I　caught　her　in　the　street　pinching　her　cheeks　to　make　them　red。　An&Aelig；mic　a　little。　Was　given　milk　too　long。　On　the　Erin's　King　that　day　round　the　Kish。　Damned　old　tub　pitching　about。　Not　a　bit　funky。　Her　pale　blue　scarf　loose　in　the　wind　with　her　hair。　
All　dimpled　cheek's　and　curls；
Your　head　it　simply　swirls。
Seaside　girls。　Torn　envelope。　Hands　stuck　in　his　trousers　pockets；　jarvey　off　for　the　day；　singing。　Friend　of　the　family。　Swurls；　he　says。　Pier　with　lamps；　summer　evening；　band；　
Those　girls；　those　girls；
Those　lovely　seaside　girls'
Milly　too。　Young　kisses：　the　first。　Far　away　now　past。　Mrs　Marion。　Reading　lying　back　now；　counting　the　strands　of　her　hair；　smiling；　braiding。　
A　soft　qualm　regret；　flowed　down　his　backbone；　increasing。　Will　happen；　yes。　Prevent。　Useless：　can't　move。　Girl's　sweet　light　lips。　Will　happen　too。　He　felt　the　flowing　qualm　spread　over　him。　Useless　to　move　now。　Lips　kissed；　kissing　kissed。　Full　gluey　woman's　lips。　
Better　where　she　is　down　there：　away。　Occupy　her。　Wanted　a　dog　to　pass　the　time。　Might　take　a　trip　down　there。　August　bank　holiday；　only　two　and　six　return。　Six　weeks　off　however。　Might　work　a　press　pass。　Or　through　M'Coy。　
The　cat；　having　cleaned　all　her　fur；　returned　to　the　meatstained　paper；　nosed　at　it　and　stalked　to　the　door。　She　looked　back　at　him；　mewing。　Wants　to　go　out。　Wait　before　a　door　sometime　it　will　open。　Let　her　wait。　Has　the　fidgets。　Electric。　Thunder　in　the　air。　Was　washing　at　her　ear　with　her　back　to　the　fire　too。　
He　felt　heavy；　full：　then　a　gentle　loosening　of　his　bowels。　He　stood　up；　undoing　the　waistband　of　his　trousers。　The　cat　mewed　to　him。　
　Miaow！　he　said　in　answer。　Wait　till　I'm　ready。　
Heaviness：　hot　day　ing。　Too　much　trouble　to　fag　up　the　stairs　to　the　landing。　
A　paper。　He　liked　to　read　at　stool。　Hope　no　ape　es　knocking　just　as　I'm。　
In　the　table　drawer　he　found　an　old　number　of　Titbits。　He　folded　it　under　his　armpit；　went　to　the　door　and　opened　it。　The　cat　went　up　in　soft　bounds。　Ah；　wanted　to　go　upstairs；　curl　up　in　a　ball　on　the　bed。　
Listening；　he　heard　her　voice：　
　e；　e；　pussy。　e。　
He　went　out　through　the　backdoor　into　the　garden：　stood　to　listen　towards　the　next　garden。　No　sound。　Perhaps　hanging　clothes　out　to　dry。　The　maid　was　in　the　garden。　Fine　morning。　
He　bent　down　to　regard　a　lean　file　of　spearmint　growing　by　the　wall。　Make　a　summerhouse　here。　Scarlet　runners。　Virginia　creepers。　Want　to　manure　the　whole　place　over；　scabby　soil。　A　coat　of　liver　of　sulphur。　All　soil　like　that　without　dung。　Household　slops。　Loam；　what　is　this　that　is？　The　hens　in　the　next　garden：　their　droppings　are　very　good　top　dressing。　Best　of　all　though　are　the　cattle；　especially　when　they　are　fed　on　those　oilcakes。　Mulch　of　dung。　Best　thing　to　clean　ladies'　kid　gloves。　Dirty　cleans。　Ashes　too。　Reclaim　the　whole　place。　Grow　peas　in　that　corner　there。　Lettuce。　Always　have　fresh　greens　then。　Still　gardens　have　their　drawbacks。　That　bee　or　bluebottle　here　Whitmonday。　
He　walked　on。　Where　is　my　hat；　by　the　way？　Must　have　put　it　back　on　the　peg。　Or　hanging　up　on　the　floor。　Funny；　I　don't　remember　that。　Hallstand　too　full。　Four　umbrellas；　her　rain　cloak。　Picking　up　the　letters。　Drago's　shopbell　ringing。　Queer　I　was　just　thinking　that　moment。　Brown　brilliantined　hair　over　his　collar。　Just　had　a　wash　and　brushup。　Wonder　have　I　time　for　a　bath　this　morning。　Tara　street。　Chap　in　the　paybox　there　got　away　James　Stephens　they　say。　O'Brien。　
Deep　voice　that　fellow　Dlugacz　has。　Agenda　what　is　it？　Now；　my　miss。　Enthusiast。　
He　kicked　open　the　crazy　door　of　the　jakes。　Better　be　careful　not　to　get　these　trousers　dirty　for　the　funeral。　He　went　in；　bowing　his　head　under　the　low　lintel。　Leaving　the　door　ajar；　amid　the　stench　of　mouldy　limewash　and　stale　cobwebs　he　undid　his　braces。　Before　sitting　down　he　peered　through　a　chink　up　at　the　nextdoor　window。　The　king　was　in　his　counting　house。　Nobody。　
Asquat　on　the　cuckstool　he　folded　out　his　paper　turning　its　pages　over　on　his　bared　knees。　Something　new　and　easy。　No　great　hurry。　Keep　it　a　bit。　Our　prize　titbit。　Matcham's　Masterstrike。　Written　by　Mr　Philip　Beaufoy；　Playgoers'　club；　London。　Payment　at　the　rate　of　one　guinea　a　column　has　been　made　to　the　writer。　Three　and　a　half。　Three　pounds　three。　Three　pounds　thirteen　and　six。　
Quietly　he　read；　restraining　himself；　the　first　column　and；　yielding　but　resisting；　began　the　second。　Midway；　his　last　resistance　yielding；　he　allowed　his　bowels　to　ease　themselves　quietly　as　he　read；　reading　still　patiently；　that　slight　constipation　of　yesterday　quite　gone。　Hope　it's　not　too　big　bring　on　piles　again。　No；　just　right。　So。　Ah！　Costive　one　tabloid　of　cascara　sagrada。　Life　might　be　so。　It　did　not　move　or　touch　him　but　it　was　something　quick　and　neat。　Print　anything　now。　Silly　season。　He　read　on；　seated　calm　above　his　own　rising　smell。　Neat　certainly。　Matcham　often　thinks　of　the　master…stroke　by　which　he　won　the　laughing　witch　who　now。　Begins　and　ends　morally。　Hand　in　hand。　Smart。　He　glanced　back　through　what　he　had　read　and；　while　feeling　his　water　flow　quietly；　he　envied　kindly　Mr　Beaufoy　who　had　written　it　and　received　payment　of　three　pounds　thirteen　and　six。　
Might　manage　a　sketch。　By　Mr　and　Mrs　L。　M。　Bloom。　Invent　a　story　for　some　proverb　which？　Time　I　used　to　try　jotting　down　on　my　cuff　what　she　said　dressing。　Dislike　dressing　together。　Nicked　myself　shaving。　Biting　her　nether　Hip；　hooking　the　placket　of　her　skirt。　Timing　her。　9。15。　Did　Roberts　pay　you　yet？　9。20。　What　had　Gretta　Conroy　on？　9。23。　What　possessed　me　to　buy　this　b？　9。24。　I'm　swelled　after　that　cabbage。　A　speck　of　dust　on　the　patent　leather　of　her　boot。　
Rubbing　smartly　in　turn　each　welt　against　her　stocking　calf。　Morning　after　the　bazaar　dance　when　May's　band　played　Ponchielli's　dance　of　the　hours。　Explain　that　morning　hours；　noon；　then　evening　ing　on；　then　night　hours。　Washing　her　teeth。　That　was　the　first　night。　Her　head　dancing。　Her　fansticks　clicking。　Is　that　Boylan　well　off？　He　has　money。　Why？　I　noticed　he　had　a　good　smell　off　his　breath　dancing。　No　use　humming　then。　Allude　to　it。　Strange　kind　of　music　that　last　night。　The　mirror　was　in　shadow。　She　rubbed　her　handglass　briskly　on　her　woollen　vest　against　her　full　wagging　bub。　Peering　into　it。　Lines　in　her　eyes。　It　wouldn't　pan　out　somehow。　
Evening　hours；　girls　in　grey　gauze。　Night　hours　then　black　with　daggers　and　eyemasks。　Poetical　idea　pink；　then　golden；　then　grey；　then　black。　Still　true　to　life　also。　Day；　then　the　night。　
He　tore　away　half　the　prize　story　sharply　and　wiped　himself　with　it。　Then　he　girded　up　his　trousers；　braced　and　buttoned　himself。　He　pulled　back　the　jerky　shaky　door　of　the　jakes　and　came　forth　from　the　gloom　into　the　air。　
In　the　bright　light；　lightened　and　cooled　in　limb；　he　eyed　carefully　his　black　trousers；　the　ends；　the　knees；　the　houghs　of　the　knees。　What　time　is　the　funeral？　Better　find　out　in　the　paper。　
A　creak　and　a　dark　whirr　in　the　air　high　up。　The　bells　of　George's　church。　They　tolled　the　hour：　loud　dark　iron。　
Heigho！　Heigho！
Heigho！　Heigho！
Heigho！　Heigho！
Quarter　to。　There　again：　the　overtone　following　through　the　air；　third。　
Poor　Dignam！　
Lotus　Eaters
BY　LORRIES　ALONG　SIR　JOHN　ROGERSON'S　QUAY　MR　BLOOM　WALKED　soberly；　past　Windmill　lane；　Leask's　the　linseed　crusher's；　the　postal　telegraph　office。　Could　have　given　that　address　too。　And　past　the　sailors'　home。　He　turned　from　the　morning　noises　of　the　quayside　and　walked　through　Lime　street。　By　Brady's　cottages　a　boy　for　the　skins　lolled；　his　bucket　of　offal　linked；　smoking　a　chewed　fagbutt。　A　smaller　girl　with　scars　of　eczema　on　her　forehead　eyed　him；　listlessly　holding　her　battered　caskhoop。　Tell　him　if　he　smokes　he　won't　grow。　O　let　him！　His　life　isn't　such　a　bed　of　roses！　Waiting　outside　pubs　to　bring　da　home。　e　home　to　ma；　da。　Slack　hour：　won't　be　many　there。　He　crossed　Townsend　street；　passed　the　frowning　face　of　Bethel。　El；　yes：　house　of：　Aleph；　Beth。　And　past　Nichols'　the　undertaker's。　At　eleven　it　is。　Time　enough。　Daresay　Corny　Kelleher　bagged　that　job　for　O'Neill's。　Singing　with　his　eyes　shut。　Corney。　Met　her　once　in　the　park。　In　the　dark。　What　a　lark。　Police　tout。　Her　name　and　address　she　then　told　with　my　tooraloom　tooraloom　tay。　O；　surely　he　bagged　it。　Bury　him　cheap　in　a　whatyoumaycall。　With　my　tooraloom；　tooraloom；　tooraloom；　tooraloom。　
In　Westland　row　he　halted　before　the　window　of　the　Belfast　and　Oriental　Tea　pany　and　read　the　legends　of　lead…papered　packets：　choice　blend；　finest　quality；　family　tea。　Rather　warm。　Tea。　Must　get　some　from　Tom　Kernan。　Couldn't　ask　him　at　a　funeral；　though。　While　his　eyes　still　read　blandly　he　took　off　his　hat　quietly　inhaling　his　hairoil　and　sent　his　right　hand　with　slow　grace　over　his　brow　and　hair。　Very　warm　morning。　Under　their　dropped　lids　his　eyes　found　the　tiny　bow　of　the　leather　headband　inside　his　high　grade　ha。　Just　there。　His　right　hand　came　down　into　the　bowl　of　his　hat。　His　fingers　found　quickly　a　card　behind　the　headband　and　transferred　it　to　his　waistcoat　pocket。　
So　warm。　His　right　hand　once　more　more　slowly　went　over　again：　choice　blend；　made　of　the　finest　Ceylon　brands。　The　far　east。　Lovely　spot　it　must　be：　the　garden　of　the　world；　big　lazy　leaves　to　float　about　on；　cactuses；　flowery　meads；　snaky　lianas　they　call　them。　Wonder　is　it　like　that。　Those　Cinghalese　lobbing　around　in　the　sun；　in　dolce　far　niente。　Not　doing　a　hand's　turn　all　day。　Sleep　six　months　out　of　twelve。　Too　hot　to　quarrel。　Influence　of　the　climate。　Lethargy。　Flowers　of　idleness。　The　air　feeds　most。　Azotes。　Hothouse　in　Botanic　gardens。　Sensitive　plants。　Waterlilies。　Petals　too　tired　to。　Sleeping　sickness　in　the　air。　Walk　on　roseleaves。　Imagine　trying　to　eat　tripe　and　cowheel。　Where　was　the　chap　I　saw　in　that　picture　somewhere？　Ah；　in　the　dead　sea；　floating　on　his　back；　reading　a　book　with　a　parasol　open。　Couldn't　sink　if　you　tried：　so　thick　with　salt。　Because　the　weight　of　the　water；　no；　the　weight　of　the　body　in　the　water　is　equal　to　the　weight　of　the。　Or　is　it　the　volume　is　equal　of　the　weight？　It's　a　law　something　like　that。　Vance　in　High　school　cracking　his　fingerjoints；　teaching。　The　college　curriculum。　Cracking　curriculum。　What　is　weight　really　when　you　say　the　weight？　Thirtytwo　feet　per　second；　per　second。　Law　of　falling　bodies：　per　second；　per　second。　They　all　fall　to　the　ground。　The　earth。　It's　the　force　of　gravity　of　the　earth　is　the　weight。　
He　turned　away　and　sauntered　across　the　road。　How　did　she　walk　with　her　sausages？　Like　that　something。　As　he　walked　he　took　the　folded　Freeman　from　his　sidepocket；　unfolded　it；　rolled　it　lengthwise　in　a　baton　and　tapped　it　at　each　sauntering　step　against　his　trouserleg。　Careless　air：　just　drop　in　to　see。　Per　second；　per　second。　Per　second　for　every　second　it　means。　From　the　curbstone　he　darted　a　keen　glance　through　the　door　of　the　postoffice。　Too　late　box。　Post　here。　No…one。　In。　
He　handed　the　card　through　the　brass　grill。　
　Are　there　any　letters　for　me？　he　asked。　
While　the　postmistress　searched　a　pigeonhole　he　gazed　at　the　recruiting　poster　with　soldiers　of　all　arms　on　parade：　and　held　the　tip　of　his　baton　against　his　nostrils；　smelling　freshprinted　rag　paper。　No　answer　probably。　Went　too　far　last　time。　
The　postmistress　handed　him　back　through　the　grill　his　card　with　a　letter。　He　thanked　an