尤利西斯-第13章

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The　postmistress　handed　him　back　through　the　grill　his　card　with　a　letter。　He　thanked　and　glanced　rapidly　at　the　typed　envelope。　
Henry　Flower；　Esq。
c/o　P。　O。　Westland　Row；
City。
Answered　anyhow。　He　slipped　card　and　letter　into　his　sidepocket；　reviewing　again　the　soldiers　on　parade。　Where's　old　Tweedy's　regiment？　Castoff　soldier。　There：　bearskin　cap　and　hackle　plume。　No；　he's　a　grenadier。　Pointed　cuffs。　There　he　is：　royal　Dublin　fusiliers。　Redcoats。　Too　showy。　That　must　be　why　the　women　go　after　them。　Uniform。　Easier　to　enlist　and　drill。　Maud　Gonne's　letter　about　taking　them　off　O'Connell　street　at　night：　disgrace　to　our　Irish　capital。　Griffith's　paper　is　on　the　same　tack　now：　an　army　rotten　with　venereal　disease：　overseas　or　halfseasover　empire。　Half　baked　they　look：　hypnotised　like。　Eyes　front。　Mark　time。　Table：　able。　Bed：　ed。　The　King's　own。　Never　see　him　dressed　up　as　a　fireman　or　a　bobby。　A　mason；　yes。　
He　strolled　out　of　the　postoffice　and　turned　to　the　right。　Talk：　as　if　that　would　mend　matters。　His　hand　went　into　his　pocket　and　a　forefinger　felt　its　way　under　the　flap　of　the　envelope；　ripping　it　open　in　jerks。　Women　will　pay　a　lot　of　heed；　I　don't　think。　His　fingers　drew　forth　the　letter　and　crumpled　the　envelope　in　his　pocket。　Something　pinned　on：　photo　perhaps。　Hair？　No。　
M'Coy。　Get　rid　of　him　quickly。　Take　me　out　of　my　way。　Hate　pany　when　you。　
　Hello；　Bloom。　Where　are　you　off　to？　
　Hello；　M'Coy。　Nowhere　in　particular。　
　How's　the　body？　
　Fine。　How　are　you？　
　Just　keeping　alive；　M'Coy　said。　
His　eyes　on　the　black　tie　and　clothes　he　asked　with　low　respect：　
　Is　there　any。。。　no　trouble　I　hope？　I　see　you're。。。　
　O　no；　Mr　Bloom　said。　Poor　Dignam；　you　know。　The　funeral　is　today。　
　To　be　sure；　poor　fellow。　So　it　is。　What　time？　
A　photo　it　isn't。　A　badge　maybe。　
　E。。。　eleven；　Mr　Bloom　answered。　
　I　must　try　to　get　out　there；　M'Coy　said。　Eleven；　is　it？　I　only　heard　it　last　night。　Who　was　telling　me？　Holohan。　You　know　Hoppy？　
　I　know。　
Mr　Bloom　gazed　across　the　road　at　the　outsider　drawn　up　before　the　door　of　the　Grosvenor。　The　porter　hoisted　the　valise　up　on　the　well。　She　stood　still；　waiting；　while　the　man；　husband；　brother；　like　her；　searched　his　pockets　for　change。　Stylish　kind　of　coat　with　that　roll　collar；　warm　for　a　day　like　this；　looks　like　blanketcloth。　Careless　stand　of　her　with　her　hands　in　those　patch　pockets。　Like　that　haughty　creature　at　the　polo　match。　Women　all　for　caste　till　you　touch　the　spot。　Handsome　is　and　handsome　does。　Reserved　about　to　yield。　The　honourable　Mrs　and　Brutus　is　an　honourable　man。　Possess　her　once　take　the　starch　out　of　her。　
　I　was　with　Bob　Doran；　he's　on　one　of　his　periodical　bends；　and　what　do　you　call　him　Bantam　Lyons。　Just　down　there　in　Conway's　we　were。　
Doran；　Lyons　in　Conway's。　She　raised　a　gloved　hand　to　her　hair。　In　came　Hoppy。　Having　a　wet。　Drawing　back　his　head　and　gazing　far　from　beneath　his　veiled　eyelids　he　saw　the　bright　fawn　skin　shine　in　the　glare；　the　braided　drums。　Clearly　I　can　see　today。　Moisture　about　gives　long　sight　perhaps。　Talking　of　one　thing　or　another。　Lady's　hand。　Which　side　will　she　get　up？　
　And　he　said：　Sad　thing　about　our　poor　friend　Paddy！　What　Paddy？　I　said。　Poor　little　Paddy　Dignam；　he　said。　
Off　to　the　country：　Broadstone　probably。　High　brown　boots　with　laces　dangling。　Well　turned　foot。　What　is　he　fostering　over　that　change　for？　Sees　me　looking。　Eye　out　for　other　fellow　always。　Good　fallback。　Two　strings　to　her　bow。　
　Why？　I　said。　What's　wrong　with　him？　I　said。　
Proud：　rich：　silk　stockings。　
　Yes；　Mr　Bloom　said。　
He　moved　a　little　to　the　side　of　M'Coy's　talking　head。　Getting　up　in　a　minute。　
　What's　wrong　with　him？　he　said。　He's　dead；　he　said。　And；　faith；　he　filled　up。　Is　it　Paddy　Dignam？　I　said。　I　couldn't　believe　it　when　I　heard　it。　I　was　with　him　no　later　than　Friday　last　or　Thursday　was　it　in　the　Arch。　Yes；　he　said。　He's　gone。　He　died　on　Monday；　poor　fellow。　
Watch！　Watch！　Silk　flash　rich　stockings　white。　Watch！　
A　heavy　tramcar　honking　its　gong　slewed　between。　
Lost　it。　Curse　your　noisy　pugnose。　Feels　locked　out　of　it。　Paradise　and　the　peri。　Always　happening　like　that。　The　very　moment。　Girl　in　Eustace　street　hallway。　Monday　was　it　settling　her　garter。　Her　friend　covering　the　display　of。　Esprit　de　corps。　Well；　what　are　you　gaping　at？　
　Yes；　yes；　Mr　Bloom　said　after　a　dull　sigh。　Another　gone。　
　One　of　the　best；　M'Coy　said。　
The　tram　passed。　They　drove　off　towards　the　Loop　Line　bridge；　her　rich　gloved　hand　on　the　steel　grip。　Flicker；　flicker：　the　laceflare　of　her　hat　in　the　sun：　flicker；　flick。　
　Wife　well；　I　suppose？　M'Coy's　changed　voice　said。　
　O　yes；　Mr　Bloom　said。　Tiptop；　thanks。　
He　unrolled　the　newspaper　baton　idly　and　read　idly：　
What　is　home　without
Plumtree's　Potted　Meat？
Inplete。
With　it　an　abode　of　bliss。
　My　missus　has　just　got　an　engagement。　At　least　it's　not　settled　yet。　
Valise　tack　again。　By　the　way　no　harm。　I'm　off　that；　thanks。　
Mr　Bloom　turned　his　largelidded　eyes　with　unhasty　friendliness。　
　My　wife　too；　he　said。　She's　going　to　sing　at　a　swagger　affair　in　the　Ulster　hall；　Belfast；　on　the　twentyfifth。　
　That　so？　M'Coy　said。　Glad　to　hear　that；　old　man。　Who's　getting　it　up？　
Mrs　Marion　Bloom。　Not　up　yet。　Queen　was　in　her　bedroom　eating　bread　and。　No　book。　Blackened　court　cards　laid　along　her　thigh　by　sevens。　Dark　lady　and　fair　man。　Cat　furry　black　ball。　Torn　strip　of　envelope。　
Love's
Old
Sweet
Song
es　lo…ve's　old。。。　
　It's　a　kind　of　a　tour；　don't　you　see？　Mr　Bloom　said　thoughtfully。　Sweet　song。　There's　a　mittee　formed。　Part　shares　and　part　profits。　
M'Coy　nodded；　picking　at　his　moustache　stubble。　
　O　well；　he　said。　That's　good　news。　
He　moved　to　go。　
　Well；　glad　to　see　you　looking　fit；　he　said。　Meet　you　knocking　around。　
　Yes；　Mr　Bloom　said。　
　Tell　you　what；　M'Coy　said。　You　might　put　down　my　name　at　the　funeral；　will　you？　I'd　like　to　go　but　I　mightn't　be　able；　you　see。　There's　a　drowning　case　at　Sandycove　may　turn　up　and　then　the　coroner　and　myself　would　have　to　go　down　if　the　body　is　found。　You　just　shove　in　my　name　if　I'm　not　there；　will　you？　
　I'll　do　that；　Mr　Bloom　said；　moving　to　get　off。　That'll　be　all　right。　
　Right；　M'Coy　said　brightly。　Thanks；　old　man。　I'd　go　if　I　possibly　could。　Well；　tolloll。　Just　C。　P。　M'Coy　will　do。　
　That　will　be　done；　Mr　Bloom　answered　firmly。　
Didn't　catch　me　napping　that　wheeze。　The　quick　touch。　Soft　mark。　I'd　like　my　job。　Valise　I　have　a　particular　fancy　for。　Leather。　Capped　corners；　riveted　edges；　double　action　lever　lock。　Bob　Cowley　lent　him　his　for　the　Wicklow　regatta　concert　last　year　and　never　heard　tidings　of　it　from　that　good　day　to　this。　
Mr　Bloom；　strolling　towards　Brunswick　street；　smiled。　My　missus　has　just　got　an。　Reedy　freckled　soprano。　Cheeseparing　nose。　Nice　enough　in　its　way：　for　a　little　ballad。　No　guts　in　it。　You　and　me；　don't　you　know？　In　the　same　boat。　Softsoaping。　Give　you　the　needle　that　would。　Can't　he　hear　the　difference？　Think　he's　that　way　inclined　a　bit。　Against　my　grain　somehow。　Thought　that　Belfast　would　fetch　him。　I　hope　that　smallpox　up　there　doesn't　get　worse。　Suppose　she　wouldn't　let　herself　be　vaccinated　again。　Your　wife　and　my　wife。　
Wonder　is　he　pimping　after　me？　
Mr　Bloom　stood　at　the　corner；　his　eyes　wandering　over　the　multicoloured　hoardings。　Cantrell　and　Cochrane's　Ginger　Ale　（Aromatic）。　Clery's　summer　sale。　No；　he's　going　on　straight。　Hello。　Leah　tonight：　Mrs　Bandman　Palmer。　Like　to　see　her　in　that　again。　Hamlet　she　played　last　night。　Male　impersonator。　Perhaps　he　was　a　woman。　Why　Ophelia　mitted　suicide？　Poor　papa！　How　he　used　to　talk　about　Kate　Bateman　in　that！　Outside　the　Adelphi　in　London　waited　all　the　afternoon　to　get　in。　Year　before　I　was　born　that　was：　sixtyfive。　And　Ristori　in　Vienna。　What　is　this　the　right　name　is？　By　Mosenthal　it　is。　Rachel；　is　it？　No。　The　scene　he　was　always　talking　about　where　the　old　blind　Abraham　recognises　the　voice　and　puts　his　fingers　on　his　face。　
　Nathan's　voice！　His　son's　voice！　I　hear　the　voice　of　Nathan　who　left　his　father　to　die　of　grief　and　misery　in　my　arms；　who　left　the　house　of　his　father　and　left　the　God　of　his　father。　
Every　word　is　so　deep；　Leopold。　
Poor　papa！　Poor　man！　I'm　glad　I　didn't　go　into　the　room　to　look　at　his　face。　That　day！　O　dear！　O　dear！　Ffoo！　Well；　perhaps　it　was　the　best　for　him。　
Mr　Bloom　went　round　the　corner　and　passed　the　drooping　nags　of　the　hazard。　No　use　thinking　of　it　any　more。　Nosebag　time。　Wish　I　hadn't　met　that　M'Coy　fellow。　
He　came　nearer　and　heard　a　crunching　of　gilded　oats；　the　gently　champing　teeth。　Their　full　buck　eyes　regarded　him　as　he　went　by；　amid　the　sweet　oaten　reek　of　horsepiss。　Their　Eldorado。　Poor　jugginses！　Damn　all　they　know　or　care　about　anything　with　their　long　noses　stuck　in　nosebags。　Too　full　for　words。　Still　they　get　their　feed　all　right　and　their　doss。　Gelded　too：　a　stump　of　black　guttapercha　wagging　limp　between　their　haunches。　Might　be　happy　all　the　same　that　way。　Good　poor　brutes　they　look。　Still　their　neigh　can　be　very　irritating。　
He　drew　the　letter　from　his　pocket　and　folded　it　into　the　newspaper　he　carried。　Might　just　walk　into　her　here。　The　lane　is　safer。　
He　passed　the　cabman's　shelter。　Curious　the　life　of　drifting　cabbies；　all　weathers；　all　places；　time　or　setdown；　no　will　of　their　own。　Voglio　e　non。　Like　to　give　them　an　odd　cigarette。　Sociable。　Shout　a　few　flying　syllables　as　they　pass。　He　hummed：　
La　ci　darem　la　mano
La　la　lala　la　la。
He　turned　into　Cumberland　street　and；　going　on　some　paces；　halted　in　the　lee　of　the　station　wall。　No…one。　Meade's　timberyard。　Piled　balks。　Ruins　and　tenements。　With　careful　tread　he　passed　over　a　hopscotch　court　with　its　forgotten　pickeystone。　Not　a　sinner。　Near　the　timberyard　a　squatted　child　at　marbles；　alone；　shooting　the　taw　with　a　cunnythumb。　A　wise　tabby；　a　blinking　sphinx；　watched　from　her　warm　sill。　Pity　to　disturb　them。　Mohammed　cut　a　piece　out　of　his　mantel　not　to　wake　her。　Open　it。　And　once　I　played　marbles　when　I　went　to　that　old　dame's　school。　She　liked　mignonette。　Mrs　Ellis's。　And　Mr？　He　opened　the　letter　within　the　newspaper。　
A　flower。　I　think　it's　a。　A　yellow　flower　with　flattened　petals。　Not　annoyed　then？　What　does　she　say？　
Dear　Henry；
I　got　your　last　letter　to　me　and　thank　you　very　much　for　it。　I　am　sorry　you　did　not　like　my　last　letter。　Why　did　you　enclose　the　stamps？　I　am　awfully　angry　with　you。　I　do　wish　I　could　punish　you　for　that。　I　called　you　naughty　boy　because　I　do　not　like　that　other　world。　Please　tell　me　what　is　the　real　meaning　of　that　word。　Are　you　not　happy　in　your　home　you　poor　little　naughty　boy？　I　do　wish　I　could　do　something　for　you。　Please　tell　me　what　you　think　of　poor　me。　I　often　think　of　the　beautiful　name　you　have。　Dear　Henry；　when　will　we　meet？　I　think　of　you　so　often　you　have　no　idea。　I　have　never　felt　myself　so　much　drawn　to　a　man　as　you。　I　feel　so　bad　about。　Please　write　me　a　long　letter　and　tell　me　more。　Remember　if　you　do　not　I　will　punish　you。　So　now　you　know　what　I　will　do　to　you；　you　naughty　boy；　if　you　do　not　write。　O　how　I　long　to　meet　you。　Henry　dear；　do　not　deny　my　request　before　my　patience　are　exhausted。　Then　I　will　tell　you　all。　Goodbye　now；　naughty　darling。　I　have　such　a　bad　headache　today　and　write　by　return　to　your　longing
MARTHA。
P。S。　Do　tell　me　what　kind　of　perfume　does　your　wife　use。　I　want　to