尤利西斯-第27章

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sdom　Hely's。　Y　lagging　behind　drew　a　chunk　of　bread　from　under　his　foreboard；　crammed　it　into　his　mouth　and　munched　as　he　walked。　Our　staple　food。　Three　bob　a　day；　walking　along　the　gutters；　street　after　street。　Just　keep　skin　and　bone　together；　bread　and　skilly。　They　are　not　Boyl：　no：　M'Glade's　men。　Doesn't　bring　in　any　business　either。　I　suggested　to　him　about　a　transparent　show　cart　with　two　smart　girls　sitting　inside　writing　letters；　copybooks；　envelopes；　blotting　paper。　I　bet　that　would　have　caught　on。　Smart　girls　writing　something　catch　the　eye　at　once。　Everyone　dying　to　know　what　she's　writing。　Get　twenty　of　them　round　you　if　you　stare　at　nothing。　Have　a　finger　in　the　pie。　Women　too。　Curiosity。　Pillar　of　salt；　Wouldn't　have　it　of　course　because　he　didn't　think　of　it　himself　first。　Or　the　inkbottle　I　suggested　with　a　false　stain　of　black　celluloid。　His　ideas　for　ads　like　Plumtree's　potted　under　the　obituaries；　cold　meat　department。　You　can't　lick　'em。　What？　Our　envelopes。　Hello！　Jones；　where　are　you　going？　Can't　stop；　Robinson；　I　am　hastening　to　purchase　the　only　reliable　inkeraser　Kansell；　sold　by　Hely's　Ltd；　85　Dame　Street。　Well　out　of　that　ruck　I　am。　Devil　of　a　job　it　was　collecting　accounts　of　those　convents。　Tranquilla　convent。　That　was　a　nice　nun　there；　really　sweet　face。　Wimple　suited　her　small　head。　Sister？　Sister？　I　am　sure　she　was　crossed　in　love　by　her　eyes。　Very　hard　to　bargain　with　that　sort　of　woman。　I　disturbed　her　at　her　devotions　that　morning。　But　glad　to　municate　with　the　outside　world。　Our　great　day；　she　said。　Feast　of　Our　Lady　of　Mount　Carmel。　Sweet　name　too：　caramel。　She　knew；　I　think　she　knew　by　the　way　she。　If　she　had　married　she　would　have　changed。　I　suppose　they　really　were　short　of　money。　Fried　everything　in　the　best　butter　all　the　same。　No　lard　for　them。　My　heart's　broke　eating　dripping。　They　like　buttering　themselves　in　and　out。　Molly　tasting　it；　her　veil　up。　Sister？　Pat　Claffey；　the　pawnbroker's　daughter。　It　was　a　nun　they　say　invented　barbed　wire。　
He　crossed　Westmoreland　street　when　apostrophe　S　had　plodded　by。　Rover　cycleshop。　Those　races　are　on　today。　How　long　ago　is　that？　Year　Phil　Gilligan　died。　We　were　in　Lombard　street　west。　Wait；　was　in　Thom's。　Got　the　job　in　Wisdom　Hely's　year　we　married。　Six　years。　Ten　years　ago：　ninetyfour　he　died；　yes　that's　right；　the　big　fire　at　Arnott's。　Val　Dillon　was　lord　mayor。　The　Glencree　dinner。　Alderman　Robert　O'Reilly　emptying　the　port　into　his　soup　before　the　flag　fell；　Bobbob　lapping　it　for　the　inner　alderman。　Couldn't　hear　what　the　band　played。　For　what　we　have　already　received　may　the　Lord　make　us。　Milly　was　a　kiddy　then。　Molly　had　that　elephantgrey　dress　with　the　braided　frogs。　Mantailored　with　self…covered　buttons。　She　didn't　like　it　because　I　sprained　my　ankle　first　day　she　wore　choir　picnic　at　the　Sugarloaf。　As　if　that。　Old　Goodwin's　tall　hat　done　up　with　some　sticky　stuff。　Flies'　picnic　too。　Never　put　a　dress　on　her　back　like　it。　Fitted　her　like　a　glove；　shoulder　and　hips。　Just　beginning　to　plump　it　out　well。　Rabbit　pie　we　had　that　day。　People　looking　after　her。　
Happy。　Happier　then。　Snug　little　room　that　was　with　the　red　wallpaper；　Dockrell's；　one　and　ninepence　a　dozen。　Milly's　tubbing　night。　American　soap　I　bought：　elderflower。　Cosy　smell　of　her　bathwater。　Funny　she　looked　soaped　all　over。　Shapely　too。　Now　photography。　Poor　papa's　daguerreotype　atelier　he　told　me　of。　Hereditary　taste。　
He　walked　along　the　curbstone。　
Stream　of　life。　What　was　the　name　of　that　priestylooking　chap　was　always　squinting　in　when　he　passed？　Weak　eyes；　woman。　Stopped　in　Citron's　saint　Kevin's　parade。　Pen　something。　Pendennis？　My　memory　is　getting。　Pen。。。　？　Of　course　it's　years　ago。　Noise　of　the　trams　probably。　Well；　if　he　couldn't　remember　the　dayfather's　name　that　he　sees　every　day。　
Bartell　d'Arcy　was　the　tenor；　just　ing　out　then。　Seeing　her　home　after　practice。　Conceited　fellow　with　his　waxedup　moustache。　Gave　her　that　song　Winds　that　blow　from　the　south。　
Windy　night　that　was　I　went　to　fetch　her　there　was　that　lodge　meeting　on　about　those　lottery　tickets　after　Goodwin's　concert　in　the　supper　room　or　oakroom　of　the　mansion　house。　He　and　I　behind。　Sheet　of　her　music　blew　out　of　my　hand　against　the　high　school　railings。　Lucky　it　didn't。　Thing　like　that　spoils　the　effect　of　a　night　for　her。　Professor　Goodwin　linking　her　in　front。　Shaky　on　his　pins；　poor　old　sot。　His　farewell　concerts。　Positively　last　appearance　on　any　stage。　May　be　for　months　and　may　be　for　never。　Remember　her　laughing　at　the　wind；　her　blizzard　collar　up。　Corner　of　Harcourt　road　remember　that　gust？　Brrfoo！　Blew　up　all　her　skirts　and　her　boa　nearly　smothered　old　Goodwin。　She　did　get　flushed　in　the　wind。　Remember　when　we　got　home　raking　up　the　fire　and　frying　up　those　pieces　of　lap　of　mutton　for　her　supper　with　the　Chutney　sauce　she　liked。　And　the　mulled　rum。　Could　see　her　in　the　bedroom　from　the　hearth　unclamping　the　busk　of　her　stays。　White。　
Swish　and　soft　flop　her　stays　made　on　the　bed。　Always　warm　from　her。　Always　liked　to　let　herself　out。　Sitting　there　after　till　near　two；　taking　out　her　hairpins。　Milly　tucked　up　in　beddyhouse。　Happy。　Happy。　That　was　the　night。　
　O；　Mr　Bloom；　how　do　you　do？　
　Oh；　how　do　you　do；　Mrs　Breen？　
　No　use　plaining。　How　is　Molly　those　times？　Haven't　seen　her　for　ages。　
　In　the　pink；　Mr　Bloom　said　gaily；　Milly　has　a　position　down　in　Mullingar；　you　know。　
　Go　away！　Isn't　that　grand　for　her？　
　Yes；　in　a　photographer's　there。　Getting　on　like　a　house　on　fire。　How　are　all　your　charges？　
　All　on　the　baker's　list；　Mrs　Breen　said。　
How　many　has　she？　No　other　in　sight。　
　You're　in　black　I　see。　You　have　no。。。　
　No；　Mr　Bloom　said。　I　have　just　e　from　a　funeral。　
Going　to　crop　up　all　day；　I　foresee。　Who's　dead；　when　and　what　did　he　die　of？　Turn　up　like　a　bad　penny。　
　o　dear　me；　Mrs　Breen　said；　I　hope　it　wasn't　any　near　relation。　
May　as　well　get　her　sympathy。　
　Dignam；　Mr　Bloom　said。　An　old　friend　of　mine。　He　died　quite　suddenly；　poor　fellow。　Heart　trouble；　I　believe。　Funeral　was　this　morning。　
Your　funeral's　tomorrow
While　you're　ing　through　the　rye。
Diddlediddle　dumdum
Diddlediddle。。。　
　Sad　to　lose　the　old　friends；　Mrs　Breen's　womaneyes　said　melancholily。　
Now　that's　quite　enough　about　that。　Just　quietly：　husband。　
　And　your　lord　and　master？　
Mrs　Breen　turned　up　her　two　large　eyes。　Hasn't　lost　them　anyhow。　
　O；　don't　be　talking；　she　said。　He's　a　caution　to　rattlesnakes。　He's　in　there　now　with　his　lawbooks　finding　out　the　law　of　libel。　He　has　me　heartscalded。　Wait　till　I　show　you。　
Hot　mockturtle　vapour　and　steam　of　newbaked　jampuffs　rolypoly　poured　out　from　Harrison's。　The　heavy　noonreek　tickled　the　top　of　Mr　Bloom's　gullet。　Want　to　make　good　pastry；　butter；　best　flour；　Demerara　sugar；　or　they'd　taste　it　with　the　hot　tea。　Or　is　it　from　her？　A　barefoot　arab　stood　over　the　grating；　breathing　in　the　fumes。　Deaden　the　gnaw　of　hunger　that　way。　Pleasure　or　pain　is　it？　Penny　dinner。　Knife　and　fork　chained　to　the　table。　
Opening　her　handbag；　chipped　leather；　hatpin：　ought　to　have　a　guard　on　those　things。　Stick　it　in　a　chap's　eye　in　the　tram。　Rummaging。　Open。　Money。　Please　take　one。　Devils　if　they　lose　sixpence。　Raise　Cain。　Husband　barging。　Where's　the　ten　shillings　I　gave　you　on　Monday？　Are　you　feeding　your　little　brother's　family？　Soiled　handkerchief：　medicinebottle。　Pastile　that　was　fell。　What　is　she？。。。　
　There　must　be　a　new　moon　out；　she　said。　He's　always　bad　then。　Do　you　know　what　he　did　last　night？　
Her　hand　ceased　to　rummage。　Her　eyes　fixed　themselves　on　him　wide　in　alarm；　yet　smiling。　
　What？　Mr　Bloom　asked。　
Let　her　speak。　Look　straight　in　her　eyes。　I　believe　you。　Trust　me。　
　Woke　me　up　in　the　night；　she　said。　Dream　he　had；　a　nightmare。　
Indiges。　
　Said　the　ace　of　spades　was　walking　up　the　stairs。　
　The　ace　of　spades！　Mr　Bloom　said。　
She　took　a　folded　postcard　from　her　handbag。　
　Read　that；　she　said。　He　got　it　this　morning。　
　What　is　it？　Mr　Bloom　asked；　taking　the　card。　U。P。？　
　U。P。：　up；　she　said。　Someone　taking　a　rise　out　of　him。　It's　a　great　shame　for　them　whoever　he　is。　
　Indeed　it　is；　Mr　Bloom　said。　
She　took　back　the　card；　sighing。　
　And　now　he's　going　round　to　Mr　Menton's　office。　He's　going　to　take　an　action　for　ten　thousand　pounds；　he　says。　
She　folded　the　card　into　her　untidy　bag　and　snapped　the　catch。　
Same　blue　serge　dress　she　had　two　years　ago；　the　nap　bleaching。　Seen　its　best　days。　Wispish　hair　over　her　ears。　And　that　dowdy　toque；　three　old　grapes　to　take　the　harm　out　of　it。　Shabby　genteel。　She　used　to　be　a　tasty　dresser。　Lines　round　her　mouth。　Only　a　year　or　so　older　than　Molly。　
See　the　eye　that　woman　gave　her；　passing。　Cruel。　The　unfair　sex。　
He　looked　still　at　her；　holding　back　behind　his　look　his　discontent。　Pungent　mockturtle　oxtail　mulligatawny。　I'm　hungry　too。　Flakes　of　pastry　on　the　gusset　of　her　dress：　daub　of　sugary　flour　stuck　to　her　cheek。　Rhubarb　tart　with　liberal　fillings；　rich　fruit　interior。　Josie　Powell　that　was。　In　Luke　Doyle's　long　ago；　Dolphin's　Barn；　the　charades。　U。P。：　up。　
Change　the　subject。　
　Do　you　ever　see　anything　of　Mrs　Beaufoy；　Mr　Bloom　asked。　
　Mina　Purefoy？　she　said。　
Philip　Beaufoy　I　was　thinking。　Playgoers'　club。　Matcham　often　thinks　of　the　masterstroke。　Did　I　pull　the　chain？　Yes。　The　last　act。　
　Yes。　
　I　just　called　to　ask　on　the　way　in　is　she　over　it。　She's　in　the　lying…in　hospital　in　Holles　street。　Dr　Horne　got　her　in。　She's　three　days　bad　now。　
　O；　Mr　Bloom　said。　I'm　sorry　to　hear　that。　
　Yes；　Mrs　Breen　said。　And　a　houseful　of　kids　at　home。　It's　a　very　stiff　birth；　the　nurse　told　me。　
　O；　Mr　Bloom　said。　
His　heavy　pitying　gaze　absorbed　her　news。　His　tongue　clacked　in　passion。　Dth！　Dth！　
　I'm　sorry　to　hear　that；　he　said。　Poor　thing！　Three　days！　That's　terrible　for　her。　
Mrs　Breen　nodded。　
　She　was　taken　bad　on　the　Tuesday。。。　
Mr　Bloom　touched　her　funnybone　gently；　warning　her。　
　Mind！　Let　this　man　pass。　
A　bony　form　strode　along　the　curbstone　from　the　river；　staring　with　a　rapt　gaze　into　the　sunlight　through　a　heavy　stringed　glass。　Tight　as　a　skullpiece　a　tiny　hat　gripped　his　head。　From　his　arm　a　folded　dustcoat；　a　stick　and　an　umbrella　dangled　to　his　stride。　
　Watch　him；　Mr　Bloom　said。　He　always　walks　outside　the　lampposts。　Watch！　
　Who　is　he　if　it's　a　fair　question；　Mrs　Breen　asked。　Is　he　dotty？　
　His　name　is　Cashel　Boyle　O'Connor　Fitzmaurice　Tisdall　Farrell；　Mr　Bloom　said；　smiling。　Watch！　
　He　has　enough　of　them；　she　said。　Denis　will　be　like　that　one　of　these　days。　
She　broke　off　suddenly。　
　There　he　is；　she　said。　I　must　go　after　him。　Goodbye。　Remember　me　to　Molly；　won't　you？　
　I　will；　Mr　Bloom　said。　
He　watched　her　dodge　through　passers　towards　the　shop…fronts。　Denis　Breen　in　skimpy　frockcoat　and　blue　canvas　shoes　shuffled　out　of　Harrison's　hugging　two　heavy　tomes　to　his　ribs。　Blown　in　from　the　bay。　Like　old　times。　He　suffered　her　to　overtake　him　without　surprise　and　thrust　his　dull　grey　beard　towards　her；　his　loose　jaw　wagging　as　he　spoke　earnestly。　
Meshuggah。　Off　his　chump。　
Mr　Bloom　walked　on　again　easily；　seeing　ahead　of　him　in　sunlight　the　tight　skullpiece；　the　dangling　stick；　umbrella；　dustcoat。　Going　the　two　days。　Watch　him！　Out　he　goes　again。　One　way　of　getting　on　in　the　world。　And　that　other　old　mosey　lunatic　in　those　duds。　Hard　time　she　must　have　with　him。　
U。P