尤利西斯-第2章

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　Yes？　Buck　Mulligan　said。　What　did　I　say？　I　forget。　
　You　said；　Stephen　answered；　O；　it's　only　Dedalus　whose　mother　is　beastly　dead。　
A　flush　which　made　him　seem　younger　and　more　engaging　rose　to　Buck　Mulligan's　cheek。　
　Did　I　say　that？　he　asked。　Well？　What　harm　is　that？　
He　shook　his　constraint　from　him　nervously。　
　And　what　is　death；　he　asked；　your　mother's　or　yours　or　my　own？　You　saw　only　your　mother　die。　I　see　them　pop　off　every　day　in　the　Mater　and　Richmond　and　cut　up　into　tripes　in　the　dissecting　room。　It's　a　beastly　thing　and　nothing　else。　It　simply　doesn't　matter。　You　wouldn't　kneel　down　to　pray　for　your　mother　on　her　deathbed　when　she　asked　you。　Why？　Because　you　have　the　cursed　jesuit　strain　in　you；　only　it's　injected　the　wrong　way。　To　me　it's　all　a　mockery　and　beastly。　Her　cerebral　lobes　are　not　functioning。　She　calls　the　doctor　Sir　Peter　Teazle　and　picks　buttercups　off　the　quilt。　Humour　her　till　it's　over。　You　crossed　her　last　wish　in　death　and　yet　you　sulk　with　me　because　I　don't　whinge　like　some　hired　mute　from　Lalouette's。　Absurd！　I　suppose　I　did　say　it。　I　didn't　mean　to　offend　the　memory　of　your　mother。　
He　had　spoken　himself　into　boldness。　Stephen；　shielding　the　gaping　wounds　which　the　words　had　left　in　his　heart；　said　very　coldly：　
　I　am　not　thinking　of　the　offence　to　my　mother。　
　Of　what；　then？　Buck　Mulligan　asked。　
　Of　the　offence　to　me；　Stephen　answered。　
Buck　Mulligan　swung　round　on　his　heel。　
　O；　an　impossible　person！　he　exclaimed。　
He　walked　off　quickly　round　the　parapet。　Stephen　stood　at　his　post；　gazing　over　the　calm　sea　towards　the　headland。　Sea　and　headland　now　grew　dim。　Pulses　were　beating　in　his　eyes；　veiling　their　sight；　and　he　felt　the　fever　of　his　cheeks。　
A　voice　within　the　tower　called　loudly：　
　Are　you　up　there；　Mulligan？　
　I'm　ing；　Buck　Mulligan　answered。　
He　turned　towards　Stephen　and　said：　
　Look　at　the　sea。　What　does　it　care　about　offences？　Chuck　Loyola；　Kinch；　and　e　on　down。　The　Sassenach　wants　his　morning　rashers。　
His　head　halted　again　for　a　moment　at　the　top　of　the　staircase；　level　with　the　roof。　
　Don't　mope　over　it　all　day；　he　said。　I'm　inconsequent。　Give　up　the　moody　brooding。　
His　head　vanished　but　the　drone　of　his　descending　voice　boomed　out　of　the　stairhead：　
And　no　more　turn　aside　and　brood　
Upon　love's　bitter　mystery
For　Fergus　rules　the　brazen　cars。
Woodshadows　floated　silently　by　through　the　morning　peace　from　the　stairhead　seaward　where　he　gazed。　Inshore　and　farther　out　the　mirror　of　water　whitened；　spurned　by　lightshod　hurrying　feet。　White　breast　of　the　dim　sea。　The　twining　stresses；　two　by　two。　A　hand　plucking　the　harpstrings　merging　their　twining　chords。　Wavewhite　wedded　words　shimmering　on　the　dim　tide。
A　cloud　began　to　cover　the　sun　slowly；　shadowing　the　bay　in　deeper　green。　It　lay　behind　him；　a　bowl　of　bitter　waters。　Fergus'　song：　I　sang　it　alone　in　the　house；　holding　down　the　long　dark　chords。　Her　door　was　open：　she　wanted　to　hear　my　music。　Silent　with　awe　and　pity　I　went　to　her　bedside。　She　was　crying　in　her　wretched　bed。　For　those　words；　Stephen：　love's　bitter　mystery。
Where　now？
Her　secrets：　old　feather　fans；　tasselled　dancecards；　powdered　with　musk；　a　gaud　of　amber　beads　in　her　locked　drawer。　A　birdcage　hung　in　the　sunny　window　of　her　house　when　she　was　a　girl。　She　heard　old　Royce　sing　in　the　pantomime　of　Turko　the　terrible　and　laughed　with　others　when　he　sang：
I　am　the　boy
That　can　enjoy
Invisibility。
Phantasmal　mirth；　folded　away：　muskperfumed。　
And　no　more　turn　aside　and　brood
Folded　away　in　the　memory　of　nature　with　her　toys。　Memories　beset　his　brooding　brain。　Her　glass　of　water　from　the　kitchen　tap　when　she　had　approached　the　sacrament。　A　cored　apple；　filled　with　brown　sugar；　roasting　for　her　at　the　hob　on　a　dark　autumn　evening。　Her　shapely　fingernails　reddened　by　the　blood　of　squashed　lice　from　the　children's　shirts。　
In　a　dream；　silently；　she　had　e　to　him；　her　wasted　body　within　its　loose　graveclothes　giving　off　an　odour　of　wax　and　rosewood；　her　breath　bent　over　him　with　mute　secret　words；　a　faint　odour　of　wetted　ashes。　
Her　glazing　eyes；　staring　out　of　death；　to　shake　and　bend　my　soul。　On　me　alone。　The　ghostcandle　to　light　her　agony。　Ghostly　light　on　the　tortured　face。　Her　hoarse　loud　breath　rattling　in　horror；　while　all　prayed　on　their　knees。　Her　eyes　on　me　to　strike　me　down。　Liliata　rutilantium　te　confessorum　turma　circumdet：　iubilantium　te　virginum　chorus　excipiat。　
Ghoul！　Chewer　of　corpses！　
No　mother。　Let　me　be　and　let　me　live。　
　Kinch　ahoy！　
Buck　Mulligan's　voice　sang　from　within　the　tower。　It　came　nearer　up　the　staircase；　calling　again。　Stephen；　still　trembling　at　his　soul's　cry；　heard　warm　running　sunlight　and　in　the　air　behind　him　friendly　words。　
　Dedalus；　edown；　like　a　good　mosey。　Breakfast　is　ready。　Haines　is　apologizing　for　waking　us　last　night。　It's　all　right。　
　I'm　ing；　Stephen　said；　turning。　
　Do；　for　Jesus'　sake；　Buck　Mulligan　said。　For　my　sake　and　for　all　our　sakes。　
His　head　disappeared　and　reappeared。　
　I　told　him　your　symbol　of　Irish　art。　He　says　it's　very　clever。　Touch　him　for　a　quid；　will　you？　A　guinea；　I　mean。　
　I　get　paid　this　morning；　Stephen　said。　
　The　school　kip？　Buck　Mulligan　said。　How　much？　Four　quid？　Lend　us　one。　
　If　you　want　it；　Stephen　said。　
　Four　shining　sovereigns；　Buck　Mulligan　cried　with　delight。　We'll　have　a　glorious　drunk　to　astonish　the　druidy　druids。　Four　omnipotent　sovereigns。　
He　flung　up　his　hands　and　tramped　down　the　stone　stairs；　singing　out　of　tune　with　a　Cockney　accent：　
O；　won't　we　have　a　merry　time
Drinking　whisky；　beer　and　wine；
On　coronation；
Coronation　day？
O；　won't　we　have　a　merry　time
On　coronation　day？
Warm　sunshine　merrying　over　the　sea。　The　nickel　shaving…bowl　shone；　forgotten；　on　the　parapet。　Why　should　I　bring　it　down？　Or　leave　it　there　all　day；　forgotten　friendship？　
He　went　over　to　it；　held　it　in　his　hands　awhile；　feeling　its　coolness；　smelling　the　clammy　slaver　of　the　lather　in　which　the　brush　was　stuck。　So　I　carried　the　boat　of　incense　then　at　Clongowes。　I　am　another　now　and　yet　the　same。　A　servant　too。　A　server　of　a　servant。　
In　the　gloomy　domed　livingroom　of　the　tower　Buck　Mulligan's　gowned　form　moved　briskly　about　the　hearth　to　and　fro；　hiding　and　revealing　its　yellow　glow。　Two　shafts　of　soft　daylight　fell　across　the　flagged　floor　from　the　high　barbicans：　and　at　the　meeting　of　their　rays　a　cloud　of　coalsmoke　and　fumes　of　fried　grease　floated；　turning。　
　We'll　be　choked；　Buck　Mulligan　said。　Haines；　open　that　door；　will　you？　
Stephen　laid　the　shavingbowl　on　the　locker。　A　tall　figure　rose　from　the　hammock　where　it　had　been　sitting；　went　to　the　doorway　and　pulled　open　the　inner　doors。　
　Have　you　the　key？　a　voice　asked。　
　Dedalus　has　it；　Buck　Mulligan　said。　Janey　Mack；　I'm　choked。　He　howled　without　looking　up　from　the　fire：　
　Kinch！　
　It's　in　the　lock；　Stephen　said；　ing　forward。　
The　key　scraped　round　harshly　twice　and；　when　the　heavy　door　had　been　set　ajar；　wele　light　and　bright　air　entered。　Haines　stood　at　the　doorway；　looking　out。　Stephen　haled　his　upended　valise　to　the　table　and　sat　down　to　wait。　Buck　Mulligan　tossed　the　fry　on　to　the　dish　beside　him。　Then　he　carried　the　dish　and　a　large　teapot　over　to　the　table；　set　them　down　heavily　and　sighed　with　relief。　
　I'm　melting；　he　said；　as　the　candle　remarked　when　。　
But　hush。　Not　a　word　more　on　that　subject。　Kinch；　wake　up。　Bread；　butter；　honey。　Haines；　e　in。　The　grub　is　ready。　Bless　us；　O　Lord；　and　these　thy　gifts。　Where's　the　sugar？　O；　jay；　there's　no　milk。　
Stephen　fetched　the　loaf　and　the　pot　of　honey　and　the　buttercooler　from　the　locker。　Buck　Mulligan　sat　down　in　a　sudden　pet。　
　What　sort　of　a　kip　is　this？　he　said。　I　told　her　to　e　after　eight。　
　We　can　drink　it　black；　Stephen　said。　There's　a　lemon　in　the　locker。　
　O；　damn　you　and　your　Paris　fads；　Buck　Mulligan　said。　I　want　Sandycove　milk。　
Haines　came　in　from　the　doorway　and　said　quietly：　
　That　woman　is　ing　up　with　the　milk。　
　The　blessings　of　God　on　you；　Buck　Mulligan　cried；　jumping　up　from　his　chair。　Sit　down。　Pour　out　the　tea　there。　The　sugar　is　in　the　bag。　Here；　I　can't　go　fumbling　at　the　damned　eggs。　He　hacked　through　the　fry　on　the　dish　and　slapped　it　out　on　three　plates；　saying：　
　In　nomine　Patris　et　Filii　et　Spiritus　Sancti。　
Haines　sat　down　to　pour　out　the　tea。　
　I'm　giving　you　two　lumps　each；　he　said。　But；　I　say；　Mulligan；　you　do　make　strong　tea；　don't　you？　
Buck　Mulligan；　hewing　thick　slices　from　the　loaf；　said　in　an　old　woman's　wheedling　voice：　
　When　I　makes　tea　I　makes　tea；　as　old　mother　Grogan　said。　And　when　I　makes　water　I　makes　water。　
　By　Jove；　it　is　tea；　Haines　said。　
Buck　Mulligan　went　on　hewing　and　wheedling：　
　So　I　do；　Mrs　Cahill；　says　she。　Begob；　ma'am；　says　Mrs　Cahill；　God　send　you　don't　make　them　in　the　one　pot。　
He　lunged　towards　his　messmates　in　turn　a　thick　slice　of　bread；　impaled　on　his　knife。　
　That's　folk；　he　said　very　earnestly；　for　your　book；　Haines。　Five　lines　of　text　and　ten　pages　of　notes　about　the　folk　and　the　fishgods　of　Dundrum。　Printed　by　the　weird　sisters　in　the　year　of　the　big　wind。　
He　turned　to　Stephen　and　asked　in　a　fine　puzzled　voice；　lifting　his　brows：　
　Can　you　recall；　brother；　is　mother　Grogan's　tea　and　water　pot　spoken　of　in　the　Mabinogion　or　is　it　in　the　Upanishads？　
　I　doubt　it；　said　Stephen　gravely。　
　Do　you　now？　Buck　Mulligan　said　in　the　same　tone。　Your　reasons；　pray？　
　I　fancy；　Stephen　said　as　he　ate；　it　did　not　exist　in　or　out　of　the　Mabinogion。　Mother　Grogan　was；　one　imagines；　a　kinswoman　of　Mary　Ann。　
Buck　Mulligan's　face　smiled　with　delight。　
　Charming；　he　said　in　a　finical　sweet　voice；　showing　his　white　teeth　and　blinking　his　eyes　pleasantly。　Do　you　think　she　was？　Quite　charming。　
Then；　suddenly　overclouding　all　his　features；　he　growled　in　a　hoarsened　rasping　voice　as　he　hewed　again　vigorously　at　the　loaf：　
　For　old　Mary　Ann　
She　doesn't　care　a　damn；　
But；　hising　up　her　petticoats。。。　
He　crammed　his　mouth　with　fry　and　munched　and　droned。　
The　doorway　was　darkened　by　an　entering　form。　
　The　milk；　sir。　
　e　in；　ma'am；　Mulligan　said。　Kinch；　get　the　jug。　
An　old　woman　came　forward　and　stood　by　Stephen's　elbow。　
　That's　a　lovely　morning；　sir；　she　said。　Glory　be　to　God。　
　To　whom？　Mulligan　said；　glancing　at　her。　Ah；　to　be　sure。　Stephen　reached　back　and　took　the　milkjug　from　the　locker。　
　The　islanders；　Mulligan　said　to　Haines　casually；　speak　frequently　of　the　collector　of　prepuces。　
　How　much；　sir？　asked　the　old　woman。　
　A　quart；　Stephen　said。　
He　watched　her　pour　into　the　measure　and　thence　into　the　jug　rich　white　milk；　not　hers。　Old　shrunken　paps。　She　poured　again　a　measureful　and　a　tilly。　Old　and　secret　she　had　entered　from　a　morning　world；　maybe　a　messenger。　She　praised　the　goodness　of　the　milk；　pouring　it　out。　Crouching　by　a　patient　cow　at　daybreak　in　the　lush　field；　a　witch　on　her　toadstool；　her　wrinkled　fingers　quick　at　the　squirting　dugs。　They　lowed　about　her　whom　they　knew；　dewsilky　cattle。　Silk　of　the　kine　and　poor　old　woman；　names　given　her　in　old　times。　A　wandering　crone；　lowly　form　of　an　immortal　serving　her　conqueror　and　her　gay　betrayer；　their　mon　cuckquean；　a　messenger　from　the　secret　morning。　To　serve　or　to　upbraid；　whether　he　could　not　tell：　but　scorned　to　beg　her　favour。　
　It　is　indeed；　ma'am；　Buck　Mulligan　said；　pouring　milk　int