尤利西斯-第42章

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　Well；　what　is　it？　he　said；　stopping。　
The　lacquey　rang　his　bell　behind　their　backs。　
　Barang！　
　Curse　your　bloody　blatant　soul；　Mr　Dedalus　cried；　turning　on　him。　
The　lacquey；　aware　of　ment；　shook　the　lolling　clapper　of　his　bell　but　feebly：　
　Bang！　
Mr　Dedalus　stared　at　him。　
　Watch　him；　he　said。　It's　instructive。　I　wonder　will　he　allow　us　to　talk。　
　You　got　more　than　that；　father；　Dilly　said。　
　I'm　going　to　show　you　a　little　trick；　Mr　Dedalus　said。　I'll　leave　you　all　where　Jesus　left　the　jews。　Look；　that's　all　I　have。　I　got　two　shillings　from　Jack　Power　and　I　spent　twopence　for　a　shave　for　the　funeral。　
He　drew　forth　a　handful　of　copper　coins　nervously。　
　Can't　you　look　for　some　money　somewhere？　Dilly　said。　
Mr　Dedalus　thought　and　nodded。　
　I　will；　he　said　gravely。　I　looked　all　along　the　gutter　in　O'Connell　street。　I'll　try　this　one　now。　
　You're　very　funny；　Dilly　said；　grinning。　
　Here；　Mr　Dedalus　said；　handing　her　two　pennies。　Get　a　glass　of　milk　for　yourself　and　a　bun　or　a　something。　I'll　be　home　shortly。　
He　put　the　other　coins　in　his　pocket　and　started　to　walk　on。　
The　viceregal　cavalcade　passed；　greeted　by　obsequious　policemen；　out　of　Parkgate。　
　I'm　sure　you　have　another　shilling；　Dilly　said。　
The　lacquey　banged　loudly。　
Mr　Dedalus　amid　the　din　walked　off；　murmuring　to　himself　with　a　pursing　mincing　mouth：　
　The　little　nuns！　Nice　little　things！　O；　sure　they　wouldn't　do　anything！　O；　sure　they　wouldn't　really！　Is　it　little　sister　Monica！　
From　the　sundial　towards　James's　Gate　walked　Mr　Kernan　pleased　with　the　order　he　had　booked　for　Pulbrook　Robertson　boldly　along　James's　street；　past　Shackleton's　offices。　Got　round　him　all　right。　How　do　you　do；　Mr　Crimmins？　First　rate；　sir。　I　was　afraid　you　might　be　up　in　your　other　establishment　in　Pimlico。　How　are　things　going？　Just　keeping　alive。　Lovely　weather　we　are　having。　Yes；　indeed。　Good　for　the　country。　Those　farmers　are　always　grumbling。　I'll　just　take　a　thimbleful　of　your　best　gin；　Mr　Crimmins。　A　small　gin；　sir。　Yes；　sir。　Terrible　affair　that　General　Slocum　explosion。　Terrible；　terrible！　A　thousand　casualties。　And　heartrending　scenes。　Men　trampling　down　women　and　children。　Most　brutal　thing。　What　do　they　say　was　the　cause？　Spontaneous　bustion：　most　scandalous　revelation。　Not　a　single　lifeboat　would　float　and　the　firehose　all　burst。　What　I　can't　understand　is　how　the　inspectors　ever　allowed　a　boat　like　that。。。　Now　you　are　talking　straight；　Mr　Crimmins。　You　know　why？　Palmoil。　Is　that　a　fact？　Without　a　doubt。　Well　now；　look　at　that。　And　America　they　say　is　the　land　of　the　free。　I　thought　we　were　bad　here。　
I　smiled　at　him。　America；　I　said；　quietly；　just　like　that。　What　is　it？　The　sweepings　of　every　country　including　our　own。　Isn't　that　true？　That's　a　fact。　
Graft；　my　dear　sir。　Well；　of　course；　where　there's　money　going　there's　always　someone　to　pick　it　up。　
Saw　him　looking　at　my　frockcoat。　Dress　does　it。　Nothing　like　a　dressy　appearance。　Bowls　them　over。　
　Hello；　Simon；　Father　Cowley　said。　How　are　things？　
　Hello；　Bob；　old　man；　Mr　Dedalus　answered　stopping。　
Mr　Kernan　halted　and　preened　himself　before　the　sloping　mirror　of　Peter　Kennedy；　hairdresser。　Stylish　coat；　beyond　a　doubt。　Scott　of　Dawson　street。　Well　worth　the　half　sovereign　I　gave　Neary　for　it。　Never　built　under　three　guineas。　Fits　me　down　to　the　ground。　Some　Kildare　street　club　toff　had　it　probably。　John　Mulligan；　the　manager　of　the　Hibernian　bank；　gave　me　a　very　sharp　eye　yesterday　on　Carlisle　bridge　as　if　he　remembered　me。　
Aham！　Must　dress　the　character　for　those　fellows。　Knight　of　the　road。　Gentleman。　And　now；　Mr　Crimmins；　may　we　have　the　honour　of　your　custom　again；　sir。　The　cup　that　cheers　but　not　inebriates；　as　the　old　saying　has　it。　
North　wall　and　sir　John　Rogerson's　quay；　with　hulls　and　anchorchains；　sailing　westward；　sailed　by　a　skiff；　a　crumpled　throwaway；　rocked　on　the　ferry…wash；　Elijah　is　ing。　
Mr　Kernan　glanced　in　farewell　at　his　image。　High　colour；　of　course。　Grizzled　moustache。　Returned　Indian　officer。　Bravely　he　bore　his　stumpy　body　forward　on　spatted　feet；　squaring　his　shoulders。　Is　that　Lambert's　brother　over　the　way；　Sam？　What？　Yes。　He's　as　like　it　as　damn　it。　No。　The　windscreen　of　that　motorcar　in　the　sun　there。　Just　a　flash　like　that。　Damn　like　him。　
Aham！　Hot　spirit　of　juniper　juice　warmed　his　vitals　and　his　breath。　Good　drop　of　gin；　that　was。　His　frocktails　winked　in　bright　sunshine　to　his　fat　strut。　
Down　there　Emmet　was　hanged；　drawn　and　quartered。　Greasy　black　rope。　Dogs　licking　the　blood　off　the　street　when　the　lord　lieutenant's　wife　drove　by　in　her　noddy。　
Let　me　see。　Is　he　buried　in　saint　Michan's？　Or　no；　there　was　a　midnight　burial　in　Glasnevin。　Corpse　brought　in　through　a　secret　door　in　the　wall。　Dignam　is　there　now。　Went　out　in　a　puff。　Well；　well。　Better　turn　down　here。　Make　a　detour。　
Mr　Kernan　turned　and　walked　down　the　slope　of　Watling　street　by　the　corner　of　Guinness's　visitors'　waitingroom。　Outside　the　Dublin　Distillers　pany's　stores　an　outside　car　without　fare　or　jarvey　stood；　the　reins　knotted　to　the　wheel。　Damn　dangerous　thing。　Some　Tipperary　bosthoon　endangering　the　lives　of　the　citizens。　Runaway　horse。　
Denis　Breen　with　his　tomes；　weary　of　having　waited　an　hour　in　John　Henry　Menton's　office；　led　his　wife　over　O'Connell　bridge；　bound　for　the　office　of　Messrs　Collis　and　Ward。　
Mr　Kernan　approached　Island　street。　
Times　of　the　troubles。　Must　ask　Ned　Lambert　to　lend　me　those　reminiscences　of　sir　Jonah　Barrington。　When　you　look　back　on　it　all　now　in　a　kind　of　retrospective　arrangement。　Gaming　at　Daly's。　No　cardsharping　then。　One　of　those　fellows　got　his　hand　nailed　to　the　table　by　a　dagger。　Somewhere　here　Lord　Edward　Fitzgerald　escaped　from　major　Sirr。　Stables　behind　Moira　house。　
Damn　good　gin　that　was。　
Fine　dashing　young　nobleman。　Good　stock；　of　course。　That　ruffian；　that　sham　squire；　with　his　violet　gloves；　gave　him　away。　Course　they　were　on　the　wrong　side。　They　rose　in　dark　and　evil　days。　Fine　poem　that　is：　Ingram。　They　were　gentlemen。　Ben　Dollard　does　sing　that　ballad　touchingly。　Masterly　rendition。　
At　the　siege　of　Ross　did　my　father　fall。　
A　cavalcade　in　easy　trot　along　Pembroke　quay　passed；　outriders　leaping；　leaping　in　their；　in　their　saddles。　Frockcoats。　Cream　sunshades。　
Mr　Kernan　hurried　forward；　blowing　pursily。　
His　Excellency！　Too　bad！　Just　missed　that　by　a　hair。　Damn　it！　What　a　pity！　
Stephen　Dedalus　watched　through　the　webbed　window　the　lapidary's　fingers　prove　a　timedulled　chain。　Dust　webbed　the　window　and　the　showtrays。　Dust　darkened　the　toiling　fingers　with　their　vulture　nails。　Dust　slept　on　dull　coils　of　bronze　and　silver；　lozenges　of　cinnabar；　on　rubies；　leprous　and　winedark　stones。　
Born　all　in　the　dark　wormy　earth；　cold　specks　of　fire；　evil　lights　shining　in　the　darkness。　Where　fallen　archangels　flung　the　stars　of　their　brows。　Muddy　swinesnouts；　hands；　root　and　root；　gripe　and　wrest　them。　
She　dances　in　a　foul　gloom　where　gum　burns　with　garlic。　A　sailorman；　rustbearded；　sips　from　a　beaker　rum　and　eyes　her。　A　long　and　seafed　silent　rut。　She　dances；　capers；　wagging　her　sowish　haunches　and　her　hips；　on　her　gross　belly　flapping　a　ruby　egg。　
Old　Russell　with　a　smeared　shammy　rag　burnished　again　his　gem；　turned　it　and　held　it　at　the　point　of　his　Moses'　beard。　Grandfather　ape　gloating　on　a　stolen　hoard。　
And　you　who　wrest　old　images　from　the　burial　earth！　The　brainsick　words　of　sophists：　Antisthenes。　A　lore　of　drugs。　Orient　and　immortal　wheat　standing　from　everlasting　to　everlasting。　
Two　old　women　fresh　from　their　whiff　of　the　briny　trudged　through　Irishtown　along　London　bridge　road；　one　with　a　sanded　umbrella；　one　with　a　midwife's　bag　in　which　eleven　cockles　rolled。　
The　whirr　of　flapping　leathern　bands　and　hum　of　dynamos　from　the　powerhouse　urged　Stephen　to　be　on。　Beingless　beings。　Stop！　Throb　always　without　you　and　the　throb　always　within。　Your　heart　you　sing　of。　I　between　them。　Where？　Between　two　roaring　worlds　where　they　swirl；　I。　Shatter　them；　one　and　both。　But　stun　myself　too　in　the　blow。　Shatter　me　you　who　can。　Bawd　and　butcher；　were　the　words。　I　say！　Not　yet　awhile。　A　look　around。　
Yes；　quite　true。　Very　large　and　wonderful　and　keeps　famous　time。　You　say　right；　sir。　A　Monday　morning；　'twas　so；　indeed。　
Stephen　went　down　Bedford　row；　the　handle　of　the　ash　clacking　against　his　shoulderblade。　In　Clohissey's　window　a　faded　1860　print　of　Heenan　boxing　Sayers　held　his　eye。　Staring　backers　with　square　hats　stood　round　the　roped　prizering。　The　heavyweights　in　light　loincloths　proposed　gently　each　to　other　his　bulbous　fists。　And　they　are　throbbing：　heroes'　hearts。　
He　turned　and　halted　by　the　slanted　bookcart。　
　Twopence　each；　the　huckster　said。　Four　for　sixpence。　
Tattered　pages。　The　Irish　Beekeeper。　Life　and　Miracles　of　the　Curé　of　Ars。　Pocket　Guide　to　Killarney。　
I　might　find　here　one　of　my　pawned　schoolprizes。　Stephano　Dedalo；　alumno　optimo；　palmam　ferenti。　
Father　Conmee；　having　read　his　little　hours；　walked　through　the　hamlet　of　Donnycarney；　murmuring　vespers。　
Binding　too　good　probably；　what　is　this？　Eighth　and　ninth　book　of　Moses。　Secret　of　all　secrets。　Seal　of　King　David。　Thumbed　pages：　read　and　read。　Who　has　passed　here　before　me？　How　to　soften　chapped　hands。　Recipe　for　white　wine　vinegar。　How　to　win　a　woman's　love。　For　me　this。　Say　the　following　talisman　three　times　with　hands　folded：　
　Se　et　yilo　nebrakada　femininum！　Amor　me　solo！　Sanktus！　Amen。　
Who　wrote　this？　Charms　and　invocations　of　the　most　blessed　abbot　Peter　Salanka　to　all　true　believers　divulged。　As　good　as　any　other　abbot's　charms；　as　mumbling　Joachim's。　Down；　baldynoddle；　or　we'll　wool　your　wool。　
　What　are　you　doing　here；　Stephen。　
Dilly's　high　shoulders　and　shabby　dress。　
Shut　the　book　quick。　Don't　let　see。　
　What　are　you　doing？　Stephen　said。　
A　Stuart　face　of　nonesuch　Charles；　lank　locks　falling　at　its　sides。　It　glowed　as　she　crouched　feeding　the　fire　with　broken　boots。　I　told　her　of　Paris。　Late　lieabed　under　a　quilt　of　old　overcoats；　fingering　a　pinchbeck　bracelet；　Dan　Kelly's　token。　Nebrakada　femininum。　
　What　have　you　there？　Stephen　asked。　
　I　bought　it　from　the　other　cart　for　a　penny；　Dilly　said；　laughing　nervously。　Is　it　any　good？　
My　eyes　they　say　she　has。　Do　others　see　me　so？　Quick；　far　and　daring。　Shadow　of　my　mind。　
He　took　the　coverless　book　from　her　hand。　Chardenal's　French　primer。　
　What　did　you　buy　that　for？　he　asked。　To　learn　French？　
She　nodded；　reddening　and　closing　tight　her　lips。　
Show　no　surprise。　Quite　natural。　
　Here；　Stephen　said。　It's　all　right。　Mind　Maggy　doesn't　pawn　it　on　you。　I　suppose　all　my　books　are　gone。　
　Some；　Dilly　said。　We　had　to。　
She　is　drowning。　Agenbite。　Save　her。　Agenbite。　All　against　us。　She　will　drown　me　with　her；　eyes　and　hair。　Lank　coils　of　seaweed　hair　around　me；　my　heart；　my　soul。　Salt　green　death。　
We。　
Agenbite　of　inwit。　Inwit's　agenbite。　
Misery！　Misery！　
　Hello；　Simon；　Father　Cowley　said。　How　are　things？　
　Hello；　Bob；　old　man；　Mr　Dedalus　answered；　stopping。　
They　clasped　hands　loudly　outside　Reddy　and　Daughter's。　Father　Cowley　brushed　his　moustache　often　downward　with　a　scooping　hand。　
　What's　the　best　news？　Mr　Dedalus　said。　
　Why　then　not　much；　Father　Cowley　said。　I'm　barricaded　up；　Simon；　with　two　men　prowling　around　the　house　trying　to　effect　an　entrance。　
　Jolly；　Mr