尤利西斯-第17章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


　politeness　perhaps。　Nice　fellow。　Who　knows　is　that　true　about　the　woman　he　keeps？　Not　pleasant　for　the　wife。　Yet　they　say；　who　was　it　told　me；　there　is　no　carnal。　You　would　imagine　that　would　get　played　out　pretty　quick。　Yes；　it　was　Crofton　met　him　one　evening　bringing　her　a　pound　of　rumpsteak。　What　is　this　she　was？　Barmaid　in　Jury's。　Or　the　Moira；　was　it？　
They　passed　under　the　hugecloaked　Liberator's　form。　
Martin　Cunningham　nudged　Mr　Power。　
　Of　the　tribe　of　Reuben；　he　said。　
A　tall　blackbearded　figure；　bent　on　a　stick；　stumping　round　the　corner　of　Elvery's　elephant　house　showed　them　a　curved　hand　open　on　his　spine。　
　In　all　his　pristine　beauty；　Mr　Power　said。　
Mr　Dedalus　looked　after　the　stumping　figure　and　said　mildly：　
　The　devil　break　the　hasp　of　your　back！　
Mr　Power；　collapsing　in　laughter；　shaded　his　face　from　the　window　as　the　carriage　passed　Gray's　statue。　
　We　have　all　been　there；　Martin　Cunningham　said　broadly。　
His　eyes　met　Mr　Bloom's　eyes。　He　caressed　his　beard；　adding：　
　Well；　nearly　all　of　us。　
Mr　Bloom　began　to　speak　with　sudden　eagerness　to　his　panions'　faces。　　That's　an　awfully　good　one　that's　going　the　rounds　about　Reuben　J。　and　the　son。　
　About　the　boatman？　Mr　Power　asked。　
　Yes。　Isn't　it　awfully　good？　
　What　is　that？　Mr　Dedalus　asked。　I　didn't　hear　it。　
　There　was　a　girl　in　the　case；　Mr　Bloom　began；　and　he　determined　to　send　him　to　the　isle　of　Man　out　of　harm's　way　but　when　they　were　both。。。　
　What？　Mr　Dedalus　asked。　That　confirmed　bloody　hobbledehoy　is　it？　
　Yes；　Mr　Bloom　said。　They　were　both　on　the　way　to　the　boat　and　he　tried　to　drown。。。　
　Drown　Barabbas！　Mr　Dedalus　cried。　I　wish　to　Christ　he　did！　
Mr　Power　sent　a　long　laugh　down　his　shaded　nostrils。　
　No；　Mr　Bloom　said　the　son　himself。。。　
Martin　Cunningham　thwarted　his　speech　rudely。　
　Reuben　J。　and　the　son　were　piking　it　down　the　quay　next　the　river　on　their　way　to　the　isle　of　Man　boat　and　the　young　chiseller　suddenly　got　loose　and　over　the　wall　with　him　into　the　Liffey。　
　For　God's　sake！　Mr　Dedalus　exclaimed　in　fright。　Is　he　dead？　
　Dead！　Martin　Cunningham　cried。　Not　he！　A　boatman　got　a　pole　and　fished　him　out　by　the　slack　of　the　breeches　and　he　was　landed　up　to　the　father　on　the　quay。　More　dead　than　alive。　Half　the　town　was　there。　
　Yes；　Mr　Bloom　said。　But　the　funny　part　is。。。　
　And　Reuben　J。；　Martin　Cunningham　said；　gave　the　boatman　a　florin　for　saving　his　son's　life。　
A　stifled　sigh　came　from　under　Mr　Power's　hand。　
　O；　he　did；　Martin　Cunningham　affirmed。　Like　a　hero。　A　silver　florin。　
　Isn't　it　awfully　good？　Mr　Bloom　said　eagerly。　
　One　and　eightpence　too　much；　Mr　Dedalus　said　drily。　Mr　Power's　choked　laugh　burst　quietly　in　the　carriage。　Nelson's　pillar。　
　Eight　plums　a　penny！　Eight　for　a　penny！　
　We　had　better　look　a　little　serious；　Martin　Cunningham　said。　
Mr　Dedalus　sighed。　
　And　then　indeed；　he　said；　poor　little　Paddy　wouldn't　grudge　us　a　laugh。　Many　a　good　one　he　told　himself。　
　The　Lord　forgive　me！　Mr　Power　said；　wiping　his　wet　eyes　with　his　fingers。　Poor　Paddy！　I　little　thought　a　week　ago　when　I　saw　him　last　and　he　was　in　his　usual　health　that　I'd　be　driving　after　him　like　this。　He's　gone　from　us。　
　As　decent　a　little　man　as　ever　wore　a　hat；　Mr　Dedalus　said。　He　went　very　suddenly。　
　Breakdown；　Martin　Cunningham　said。　Heart。　
He　tapped　his　chest　sadly。　
Blazing　face：　redhot。　Too　much　John　Barleycorn。　Cure　for　a　red　nose。　Drink　like　the　devil　till　it　turns　adelite。　A　lot　of　money　he　spent　colouring　it。　
Mr　Power　gazed　at　the　passing　houses　with　rueful　apprehension。　
　He　had　a　sudden　death；　poor　fellow；　he　said。　
　The　best　death；　Mr　Bloom　said。　
Their　wide　open　eyes　looked　at　him。　
　No　suffering；　he　said。　A　moment　and　all　is　over。　Like　dying　in　sleep。　
No…one　spoke。　
Dead　side　of　the　street　this。　Dull　business　by　day；　land　agents；　temperance　hotel；　Falconer's　railway　guide；　civil　service　college；　Gill's；　catholic　club；　the　industrious　blind。　Why？　Some　reason。　Sun　or　wind。　At　night　too。　Chummies　and　slaveys。　Under　the　patronage　of　the　late　Father　Mathew。　Foundation　stone　for　Parnell。　Breakdown。　Heart。　
White　horses　with　white　frontlet　plumes　came　round　the　Rotunda　corner；　galloping。　A　tiny　coffin　flashed　by。　In　a　hurry　to　bury。　A　mourning　coach。　Unmarried。　Black　for　the　married。　Piebald　for　bachelors。　Dun　for　a　nun。　
　Sad；　Martin　Cunningham　said。　A　child。　
A　dwarf's　face　mauve　and　wrinkled　like　little　Rudy's　was。　Dwarf's　body；　weak　as　putty；　in　a　whitelined　deal　box。　Burial　friendly　society　pays。　Penny　a　week　for　a　sod　of　turf。　Our。　Little。　Beggar。　Baby。　Meant　nothing。　Mistake　of　nature。　If　it's　healthy　it's　from　the　mother。　If　not　the　man。　Better　luck　next　time。　
　Poor　little　thing；　Mr　Dedalus　said。　It's　well　out　of　it。　
The　carriage　climbed　more　slowly　the　hill　of　Rutland　square。　Rattle　his　bones。　Over　the　stones。　Only　a　pauper。　Nobody　owns。　
　In　the　midst　of　life；　Martin　Cunningham　said。　
　But　the　worst　of　all；　Mr　Power　said；　is　the　man　who　takes　his　own　life。　
Martin　Cunningham　drew　out　his　watch　briskly；　coughed　and　put　it　back。　
　The　greatest　disgrace　to　have　in　the　family；　Mr　Power　added。　
　Temporary　insanity；　of　course；　Martin　Cunningham　said　decisively。　We　must　take　a　charitable　view　of　it。　
　They　say　a　man　who　does　it　is　a　coward；　Mr　Dedalus　said。　
　It　is　not　for　us　to　judge；　Martin　Cunningham　said。　
Mr　Bloom；　about　to　speak；　closed　his　lips　again。　Martin　Cunningham's　large　eyes。　Looking　away　now。　Sympathetic　human　man　he　is。　Intelligent。　Like　Shakespeare's　face。　Always　a　good　word　to　say。　They　have　no　mercy　on　that　here　or　infanticide。　Refuse　christian　burial。　They　used　to　drive　a　stake　of　wood　through　his　heart　in　the　grave。　As　if　it　wasn't　broken　already。　Yet　sometimes　they　repent　too　late。　Found　in　the　riverbed　clutching　rushes。　He　looked　at　me。　And　that　awful　drunkard　of　a　wife　of　his。　Setting　up　house　for　her　time　after　time　and　then　pawning　the　furniture　on　him　every　Saturday　almost。　Leading　him　the　life　of　the　damned。　Wear　the　heart　out　of　a　stone；　that。　Monday　morning　start　afresh。　Shoulder　to　the　wheel。　Lord；　she　must　have　looked　a　sight　that　night；　Dedalus　told　me　he　was　in　there。　Drunk　about　the　place　and　capering　with　Martin's　umbrella：　
And　they　call　me　the　jewel　of　Asia；
Of　Asia；
The　geisha。
He　looked　away　from　me。　He　knows。　Rattle　his　bones。　
That　afternoon　of　the　inquest。　The　redlabelled　bottle　on　the　table。　The　room　in　the　hotel　with　hunting　pictures。　Stuffy　it　was。　Sunlight　through　the　slats　of　the　Venetian　blinds。　The　coroner's　ears；　big　and　hairy。　Boots　giving　evidence。　Thought　he　was　asleep　first。　Then　saw　like　yellow　streaks　on　his　face。　Had　slipped　down　to　the　foot　of　the　bed。　Verdict：　overdose。　Death　by　misadventure。　The　letter。　For　my　son　Leopold。　
No　more　pain。　Wake　no　more。　Nobody　owns。　
The　carriage　rattled　swiftly　along　Blessington　street。　Over　the　stones。　
　We　are　going　the　pace；　I　think；　Martin　Cunningham　said。　
　God　grant　he　doesn't　upset　us　on　the　road；　Mr　Power　said。　
　I　hope　not；　Martin　Cunningham　said。　That　will　be　a　great　race　tomorrow　in　Germany。　The　Gordon　Bennett。　
　Yes；　by　Jove；　Mr　Dedalus　said。　That　will　be　worth　seeing；　faith。　
As　they　turned　into　Berkeley　street　a　streetorgan　near　the　Basin　sent　over　and　after　them　a　rollicking　rattling　song　of　the　halls。　Has　anybody　here　seen　Kelly？　Kay　ee　double　ell　wy。　Dead　march　from　Saul。　He's　as　bad　as　old　Antonio。　He　left　me　on　my　ownio。　Pirouette！　The　Mater　Misericordiae。　Eccles　street。　My　house　down　there。　Big　place。　Ward　for　incurables　there。　Very　encouraging。　Our　Lady's　Hospice　for　the　dying。　Deadhouse　handy　underneath。　Where　old　Mrs　Riordan　died。　They　look　terrible　the　women。　Her　feeding　cup　and　rubbing　her　mouth　with　the　spoon。　Then　the　screen　round　her　bed　for　her　to　die。　Nice　young　student　that　was　dressed　that　bite　the　bee　gave　me。　He's　gone　over　to　the　lying…in　hospital　they　told　me。　From　one　extreme　to　the　other。　
The　carriage　galloped　round　a　corner：　stopped。　
　What's　wrong　now？　
A　divided　drove　of　branded　cattle　passed　the　windows；　lowing；　slouching　by　on　padded　hoofs；　whisking　their　tails　slowly　on　their　clotted　bony　croups。　Outside　them　and　through　them　ran　raddled　sheep　bleating　their　fear。　
　Emigrants；　Mr　Power　said。　
　Huuuh！　the　drover's　voice　cried；　his　switch　sounding　on　their　flanks。　Huuuh！　Out　of　that！　
Thursday　of　course。　Tomorrow　is　killing　day。　Springers。　Cuffe　sold　them　about　twentyseven　quid　each。　For　Liverpool　probably。　Roast　beef　for　old　England。　They　buy　up　all　the　juicy　ones。　And　then　the　fifth　quarter　is　lost：　all　that　raw　stuff；　hide；　hair；　horns。　es　to　a　big　thing　in　a　year。　Dead　meat　trade。　Byproducts　of　the　slaughterhouses　for　tanneries；　soap；　margarine。　Wonder　if　that　dodge　works　now　getting　dicky　meat　off　the　train　at　Clonsilla。　
The　carriage　moved　on　through　the　drove。　
　I　can't　make　out　why　the　corporation　doesn't　run　a　tramline　from　the　parkgate　to　the　quays；　Mr　Bloom　said。　All　those　animals　could　be　taken　in　trucks　down　to　the　boats。　
　Instead　of　blocking　up　the　thoroughfare；　Martin　Cunningham　said。　Quite　right。　They　ought　to。　
　Yes；　Mr　Bloom　said；　and　another　thing　I　often　thought　is　to　have　municipal　funeral　trams　like　they　have　in　Milan；　you　know。　Run　the　line　out　to　the　cemetery　gates　and　have　special　trams；　hearse　and　carriage　and　all。　Don't　you　see　what　I　mean？　
　O　that　be　damned　for　a　story；　Mr　Dedalus　said。　Pullman　car　and　saloon　diningroom。　
　A　poor　lookout　for　Corny；　Mr　Power　added。　
　Why？　Mr　Bloom　asked；　turning　to　Mr　Dedalus。　Wouldn't　it　be　more　decent　than　galloping　two　abreast？　
　Well；　there's　something　in　that；　Mr　Dedalus　granted。　
　And；　Martin　Cunningham　said；　we　wouldn't　have　scenes　like　that　when　the　hearse　capsized　round　Dunphy's　and　upset　the　coffin　on　to　the　road。　
　That　was　terrible；　Mr　Power's　shocked　face　said；　and　the　corpse　fell　about　the　road。　Terrible！　
　First　round　Dunphy's；　Mr　Dedalus　aid；　nodding。　Gordon　Bennett　cup。　
　Praises　be　to　God！　Martin　Cunningham　said　piously。　
Bom！　Upset。　A　coffin　bumped　out　on　to　the　road。　Burst　open。　Paddy　Dignam　shot　out　and　rolling　over　stiff　in　the　dust　in　a　brown　habit　too　large　for　him。　Red　face：　grey　now。　Mouth　fallen　open。　Asking　what's　up　now。　Quite　right　to　close　it。　Looks　horrid　open。　Then　the　insides　depose　quickly。　Much　better　to　close　up　all　the　orifices。　Yes；　also。　With　wax。　The　sphincter　loose。　Seal　up　all。　
　Dunphy's；　Mr　Power　announced　as　the　carriage　turned　right。　
Dunphy's　corner。　Mourning　coaches　drawn　up　drowning　their　grief。　A　pause　by　the　wayside。　Tiptop　position　for　a　pub。　Expect　we'll　pull　up　here　on　the　way　back　to　drink　his　health。　Pass　round　the　consolation。　Elixir　of　life。　
But　suppose　now　it　did　happen。　Would　he　bleed　if　a　nail　say　cut　him　in　the　knocking　about？　He　would　and　he　wouldn't；　I　suppose。　Depends　on　where。　The　circulation　stops。　Still　some　might　ooze　out　of　an　artery。　It　would　be　better　to　bury　them　in　red：　a　dark　red。　
In　silence　they　drove　along　Phibsborough　road。　An　empty　hearse　trotted　by；　ing　from　the　cemetery：　looks　relieved。　
Crossguns　bridge：　the　royal　canal。　
Water　rushed　roaring　through　the　sluices。　A　man　stood　on　his　dropping　barge　between　clamps　of　turf。　On　the　towpath　by　the　lock　a　slacktethered　horse。　Aboard　of　the　Bugabu。　
Their　eyes　watched　him。　On　the　slow　weedy　waterway　he　had　floated　on　his　raft　coastward　over　I