尤利西斯-第15章

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ispering　gallery　walls　have　ears。　Husband　learn　to　his　surprise。　God's　little　joke。　Then　out　she　es。　Repentance　skindeep。　Lovely　shame。　Pray　at　an　altar。　Hail　Mary　and　Holy　Mary。　Flowers；　incense；　candles　melting。　Hide　her　blushes。　Salvation　army　blatant　imitation。　Reformed　prostitute　will　address　the　meeting。　How　I　found　the　Lord。　Squareheaded　chaps　those　must　be　in　Rome：　they　work　the　whole　show。　And　don't　they　rake　in　the　money　too？　Bequests　also：　to　the　P。　P。　for　the　time　being　in　his　absolute　discretion。　Masses　for　the　repose　of　my　soul　to　be　said　publicly　with　open　doors。　Monasteries　and　convents。　The　priest　in　the　Fermanagh　will　case　in　the　witness　box。　No　browbeating　him。　He　had　his　answer　pat　for　everything。　Liberty　and　exaltation　of　our　holy　mother　the　church。　The　doctors　of　the　church：　they　mapped　out　the　whole　theology　of　it。　
The　priest　prayed：　
　Blessed　Michael；　archangel；　defend　us　in　the　hour　of　conflict。　Be　our　safeguard　against　the　wickedness　and　snares　of　the　devil　（may　God　restrain　him；　we　humbly　pray）：　and　do　thou；　O　prince　of　the　heavenly　host；　by　the　power　of　God　thrust　Satan　down　to　hell　and　with　him　those　other　wicked　spirits　who　wander　through　the　world　for　the　ruin　of　souls。　
The　priest　and　the　massboy　stood　up　and　walked　off。　All　over。　The　women　remained　behind：　thanksgiving。　
Better　be　shoving　along。　Brother　Buzz。　e　around　with　the　plate　perhaps。　Pay　your　Easter　duty。　
He　stood　up。　Hello。　Were　those　two　buttons　of　my　waistcoat　open　all　the　time。　Women　enjoy　it。　Annoyed　if　you　don't。　Why…didn't　you　tell　me　before。　Never　tell　you。　But　we。　Excuse；　miss；　there's　a　（whh！）　just　a　（whh！）　fluff。　Or　their　skirt　behind；　placket　unhooked。　Glimpses　of　the　moon。　Still　like　you　better　untidy。　Good　job　it　wasn't　farther　south。　He　passed；　discreetly　buttoning；　down　the　aisle　and　out　through　the　main　door　into　the　light。　He　stood　a　moment　unseeing　by　the　cold　black　marble　bowl　while　before　him　and　behind　two　worshippers　dipped　furtive　hands　in　the　low　tide　of　holy　water。　Trams：　a　car　of　Prescott's　dyeworks：　a　widow　in　her　weeds。　Notice　because　I'm　in　mourning　myself。　He　covered　himself。　How　goes　the　time？　Quarter　past。　Time　enough　yet。　Better　get　that　lotion　made　up。　Where　is　this？　Ah　yes；　the　last　time。　Sweny's　in　Lincoln　place。　Chemists　rarely　move。　Their　green　and　gold　beaconjars　too　heavy　to　stir。　Hamilton　Long's；　founded　in　the　year　of　the　flood。　Huguenot　churchyard　near　there。　Visit　some　day。　
He　walked　southward　along　Westland　row。　But　the　recipe　is　in　the　other　trousers。　O；　and　I　forgot　that　latchkey　too。　Bore　this　funeral　affair。　O　well；　poor　fellow；　it's　not　his　fault。　When　was　it　I　got　it　made　up　last？　Wait。　I　changed　a　sovereign　I　remember。　First　of　the　month　it　must　have　been　or　the　second。　O　he　can　look　it　up　in　the　prescriptions　book。　
The　chemist　turned　back　page　after　page。　Sandy　shrivelled　smell　he　seems　to　have。　Shrunken　skull。　And　old。　Quest　for　the　philosopher's　stone。　The　alchemists。　Drugs　age　you　after　mental　excitement。　Lethargy　then。　Why？　Reaction。　A　lifetime　in　a　night。　Gradually　changes　your　character。　Living　all　the　day　among　herbs；　ointments；　disinfectants。　All　his　alabaster　lilypots。　Mortar　and　pestle。　Aq。　Dist。　Fol。　Laur。　Te　Virid。　Smell　almost　cure　you　like　the　dentist's　doorbell。　Doctor　whack。　He　ought　to　physic　himself　a　bit。　Electuary　or　emulsion。　The　first　fellow　that　picked　an　herb　to　cure　himself　had　a　bit　of　pluck。　Simples。　Want　to　be　careful。　Enough　stuff　here　to　chloroform　you。　Test：　turns　blue　litmus　paper　red。　Chloroform。　Overdose　of　laudanum。　Sleeping　draughts。　Lovephiltres。　Paragoric　poppysyrup　bad　for　cough。　Clogs　the　pores　or　the　phlegm。　Poisons　the　only　cures。　Remedy　where　you　least　expect　it。　Clever　of　nature。　
　About　a　fortnight　ago；　sir？　
　Yes；　Mr　Bloom　said。　
He　waited　by　the　counter；　inhaling　the　keen　reek　of　drugs；　the　dusty　dry　smell　of　sponges　and　loofahs。　Lot　of　time　taken　up　telling　your　aches　and　pains。　
　Sweet　almond　oil　and　tincture　of　benzoin；　Mr　Bloom　said；　and　then　orangeflower　water。。。　
It　certainly　did　make　her　skin　so　delicate　white　like　wax。　
　And　white　wax　also；　he　said。　
Brings　out　the　darkness　of　her　eyes。　Looking　at　me；　the　sheet　up　to　her　eyes；　Spanish；　smelling　herself；　when　I　was　fixing　the　links　in　my　cuffs。　Those　homely　recipes　are　often　the　best：　strawberries　for　the　teeth：　nettles　and　rainwater：　oatmeal　they　say　steeped　in　buttermilk。　Skinfood。　One　of　the　old　queen's　sons；　duke　of　Albany　was　it？　had　only　one　skin。　Leopold　yes。　Three　we　have。　Warts；　bunions　and　pimples　to　make　it　worse。　But　you　want　a　perfume　too。　What　perfume　does　your？　Peau　d'Espagne。　That　orangeflower。　Pure　curd　soap。　Water　is　so　fresh。　Nice　smell　these　soaps　have。　Time　to　get　a　bath　round　the　corner。　Hammam。　Turkish。　Massage。　Dirt　gets　rolled　up　in　your　navel。　Nicer　if　a　nice　girl　did　it。　Also　I　think　I。　Yes　I。　Do　it　in　the　bath。　Curious　longing　I。　Water　to　water。　bine　business　with　pleasure。　Pity　no　time　for　massage。　Feel　fresh　then　all　day。　Funeral　be　rather　glum。　
　Yes；　sir；　the　chemist　said。　That　was　two　and　nine。　Have　you　brought　a　bottle？　
　No；　Mr　Bloom　said。　Make　it　up；　please。　I'll　call　later　in　the　day　and　I'll　take　one　of　those　soaps。　How　much　are　they？　
　Fourpence；　sir。　
Mr　Bloom　raised　a　cake　to　his　nostrils。　Sweet　lemony　wax。　
　I'll　take　this　one；　he　said。　That　makes　three　and　a　penny。　
　Yes；　sir；　the　chemist　said。　You　can　pay　all　together；　sir；　when　you　e　back。　
　Good；　Mr　Bloom　said。　
He　strolled　out　of　the　shop；　the　newspaper　baton　under　his　armpit；　the　coolwrappered　soap　in　his　left　hand。　
At　his　armpit　Bantam　Lyons'　voice　and　hand　said：　
　Hello；　Bloom；　what's　the　best　news？　Is　that　today's？　Show　us　a　minute。　
Shaved　off　his　moustache　again；　by　Jove！　Long　cold　upper　lip。　To　look　younger。　He　does　look　balmy。　Younger　than　I　am。　
Bantam　Lyons'　yellow　blacknailed　fingers　unrolled　the　baton。　Wants　a　wash　too。　Take　off　the　rough　dirt。　Good　morning；　have　you　used　Pears'　soap？　Dandruff　on　his　shoulders。　Scalp　wants　oiling。　
　I　want　to　see　about　that　French　horse　that's　running　today；　Bantam　Lyons　said。　Where　the　bugger　is　it？　
He　rustled　the　pleated　pages；　jerking　his　chin　on　his　high　collar。　Barber's　itch。　Tight　collar　he'll　lose　his　hair。　Better　leave　him　the　paper　and　get　shut　of　him。　
　You　can　keep　it；　Mr　Bloom　said。　
　Ascot。　Gold　cup。　Wait；　Bantam　Lyons　muttered。　Half　a　mo。　Maximum　the　second。　
　I　was　just　going　to　throw　it　away；　Mr　Bloom　said。　
Bantam　Lyons　raised　his　eyes　suddenly　and　leered　weakly。　
　What's　that？　his　sharp　voice　said。　
　I　say　you　can　keep　it；　Mr　Bloom　answered。　I　was　going　to　throw　it　away　that　moment。　
Bantam　Lyons　doubted　an　instant；　leering：　then　thrust　the　outspread　sheets　back　on　Mr　Bloom's　arms。　
　I'Il　risk　it；　he　said。　Here；　thanks。　
He　sped　off　towards　Conway's　corner。　God　speed　scut。　
Mr　Bloom　folded　the　sheets　again　to　a　neat　square　and　lodged　the　soap　in　it；　smiling。　Silly　lips　of　that　chap。　Betting。　Regular　hotbed　of　it　lately。　Messenger　boys　stealing　to　put　on　sixpence。　Raffle　for　large　tender　turkey。　Your　Christmas　dinner　for　threepence。　Jack　Fleming　embezzling　to　gamble　then　smuggled　off　to　America。　Keeps　a　hotel　now。　They　never　e　back。　Fleshpots　of　Egypt。　
He　walked　cheerfully　towards　the　mosque　of　the　baths。　Remind　you　of　a　mosque；　redbaked　bricks；　the　minarets。　College　sports　today　I　see。　He　eyed　the　horseshoe　poster　over　the　gate　of　college　park：　cyclist　doubled　up　like　a　cod　in　a　pot。　Damn　bad　ad。　Now　if　they　had　made　it　round　like　a　wheel。　Then　the　spokes：　sports；　sports；　sports：　and　the　hub　big：　college。　Something　to　catch　the　eye。　
There's　Hornblower　standing　at　the　porter's　lodge。　Keep　him　on　hands：　might　take　a　turn　in　there　on　the　nod。　How　do　you　do；　Mr　Hornblower？　How　do　you　do；　sir？　
Heavenly　weather　really。　If　life　was　always　like　that。　Cricket　weather。　Sit　around　under　sunshades。　Over　after　over。　Out。　They　can't　play　it　here。　Duck　for　six　wickets。　Still　Captain　Buller　broke　a　window　in　the　Kildare　street　club　with　a　slog　to　square　leg。　Donnybrook　fair　more　in　their　line。　And　the　skulls　we　were　acracking　when　M'Carthy　took　the　floor。　Heatwave。　Won't　last。　Always　passing；　the　stream　of　life；　which　in　the　stream　of　life　we　trace　is　dearer　than　them　all。　
Enjoy　a　bath　now：　clean　trough　of　water；　cool　enamel；　the　gentle　tepid　stream。　This　is　my　body。　
He　foresaw　his　pale　body　reclined　in　it　at　full；　naked；　in　a　womb　of　warmth；　oiled　by　scented　melting　soap；　softly　laved。　He　saw　his　trunk　and　limbs　riprippled　over　and　sustained；　buoyed　lightly　upward；　lemonyellow：　his　navel；　bud　of　flesh：　and　saw　the　dark　tangled　curls　of　his　bush　floating；　floating　hair　of　the　stream　around　the　limp　father　of　thousands；　a　languid　floating　flower。　
Hades
MARTIN　CUNNINGHAM；　FIRST；　POKED　HIS　SILKHATTED　HEAD　INTO　the　creaking　carriage　and；　entering　deftly；　seated　himself。　Mr　Power　stepped　in　after　him；　curving　his　height　with　care。　
　e　on；　Simon。　
　After　you；　Mr　Bloom　said。　
Mr　Dedalus　covered　himself　quickly　and　got　in；　saying：　
　Yes；　yes。　
　Are　we　all　here　now？　Martin　Cunningham　asked。　e　along；　Bloom。　
Mr　Bloom　entered　and　sat　in　the　vacant　place。　He　pulled　the　door　to　after　him　and　slammed　it　tight　till　it　shut　tight。　He　passed　an　arm　through　the　armstrap　and　looked　seriously　from　the　open　carriage　window　at　the　lowered　blinds　of　the　avenue。　One　dragged　aside：　an　old　woman　peeping。　Nose　whiteflattened　against　the　pane。　Thanking　her　stars　she　was　passed　over。　Extraordinary　the　interest　they　take　in　a　corpse。　Glad　to　see　us　go　we　give　them　such　trouble　ing。　Job　seems　to　suit　them。　Huggermugger　in　corners。　Slop　about　in　slipper…slappers　for　fear　he'd　wake。　Then　getting　it　ready。　Laying　it　out。　Molly　and　Mrs　Fleming　making　the　bed。　Pull　it　more　to　your　side。　Our　windingsheet。　Never　know　who　will　touch　you　dead。　Wash　and　shampoo。　I　believe　they　clip　the　nails　and　the　hair。　Keep　a　bit　in　an　envelope。　Grow　all　the　same　after。　Unclean　job。　
All　waited。　Nothing　was　said。　Stowing　in　the　wreaths　probably。　I　am　sitting　on　something　hard。　Ah；　that　soap　in　my　hip　pocket。　Better　shift　it　out　of　that。　Wait　for　an　opportunity。　
All　waited。　Then　wheels　were　heard　from　in　front　turning：　then　nearer：　then　horses'　hoofs。　A　jolt。　Their　carriage　began　to　move；　creaking　and　swaying。　Other　hoofs　and　creaking　wheels　started　behind。　The　blinds　of　the　avenue　passed　and　number　nine　with　its　craped　knocker；　door　ajar。　At　walking　pace。　
They　waited　still；　their　knees　jogging；　till　they　had　turned　and　were　passing　along　the　tramtracks。　Tritonville　road。　Quicker。　The　wheels　rattled　rolling　over　the　cobbled　causeway　and　the　crazy　glasses　shook　rattling　in　the　doorframes。　
　What　way　is　he　taking　us？　Mr　Power　asked　through　both　windows。　
　Irishtown；　Martin　Cunningham　said。　Ringsend。　Brunswick　street。　
Mr　Dedalus　nodded；　looking　out。　
　That's　a　fine　old　custom；　he　said。　I　am　glad　to　see　it　has　not　died　out。　
All　watched　awhile　through　their　windows　caps　and　hats　lifted　by　passers。　Respect。　The　carriage　swerved　from　the　tramtrack　to　the　smoother　road　past　Watery　lane。　Mr　Bloom　at　gaze　saw　a　lithe　young　man；　clad　in　mourning；　a　wide　hat。　
　There's　a　friend　of　yours　gone　by；　Dedalus；　he　said。　
　Who　is　that？　
　Your　son　and　heir。　
　Where　is　he？　Mr　Dedalus　said；　stretching　over　across。　
The　carriage；　passing　the　open　drains　and