1. Telemachus
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[1]
[2]Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of
[3]lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown,
[4]ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He
[5]held the bowl aloft and intoned:
[6]
[7]—Introibo ad altare Dei.
[8]
[9]Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called out coarsely:
[10]
[11]—Come up, Kinch! Come up, you fearful jesuit!
[12]
[13]Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about
[14]and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the
[15]awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent
[16]towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat
[17]and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned
[18]his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking
[19]gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light
[20]untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.
[21]
[22]Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the
[23]bowl smartly.
[24]
[25]—Back to barracks! he said sternly.
[26]
[27]He added in a preacher’s tone:
[28]
[29]—For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul
[30]and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One
[31]moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.
[32]
[33]He peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused
[34]awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and there
[35]with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles answered
[36]through the calm.
[37]
[38]—Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off
[39]the current, will you?
[40]
[41]He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering
[42]about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and
[43]sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages.
[44]A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.
[45]
[46]—The mockery of it! he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek!
[47]
[48]He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet,
[49]laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily
[50]halfway and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as
[51]he propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and
[52]lathered cheeks and neck.
[53]
[54]Buck Mulligan’s gay voice went on.
[55]
[56]—My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a
[57]Hellenic ring, hasn’t it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself.
[58]We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out
[59]twenty quid?
[60]
[61]He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:
[62]
[63]—Will he come? The jejune jesuit!
[64]
[65]Ceasing, he began to shave with care.
[66]
[67]—Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.
[68]
[69]—Yes, my love?
[70]
[71]—How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?
[72]
[73]Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.
[74]
[75]—God, isn’t he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He
[76]thinks you’re not a gentleman. God, these bloody English! Bursting
[77]with money and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know,
[78]Dedalus, you have the real Oxford manner. He can’t make you out. O, my
[79]name for you is the best: Kinch, the knife-blade.
[80]
[81]He shaved warily over his chin.
[82]
[83]—He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is
[84]his guncase?
[85]
[86]—A woful lunatic! Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?
[87]
[88]—I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the
[89]dark with a man I don’t know raving and moaning to himself about
[90]shooting a black panther. You saved men from drowning. I’m not a hero,
[91]however. If he stays on here I am off.
[92]
[93]Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down
[94]from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.
[95]
[96]—Scutter! he cried thickly.
[97]
[98]He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen’s upper
[99]pocket, said:
[100]
[101]—Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.
[102]
[103]Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a
[104]dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly.
[105]Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:
[106]
[107]—The bard’s noserag! A new art colour for our Irish poets:
[108]snotgreen. You can almost taste it, can’t you?
[109]
[110]He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair
[111]oakpale hair stirring slightly.
[112]
[113]—God! he said quietly. Isn’t the sea what Algy calls it: a great
[114]sweet mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. Epi oinopa
[115]ponton. Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks! I must teach you. You must read them
[116]in the original. Thalatta! Thalatta! She is our great sweet mother. Come
[117]and look.
[118]
[119]Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked
[120]down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbourmouth of
[121]Kingstown.
[122]
[123]—Our mighty mother! Buck Mulligan said.
[124]
[125]He turned abruptly his grey searching eyes from the sea to Stephen’s
[126]face.
[127]
[128]—The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That’s why she
[129]won’t let me have anything to do with you.
[130]
[131]—Someone killed her, Stephen said gloomily.
[132]
[133]—You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother
[134]asked you, Buck Mulligan said. I’m hyperborean as much as you. But to
[135]think of your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and
[136]pray for her. And you refused. There is something sinister in you....
[137]
[138]He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. A tolerant
[139]smile curled his lips.
[140]
[141]—But a lovely mummer! he murmured to himself. Kinch, the loveliest
[142]mummer of them all!
[143]
[144]He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously.
[145]
[146]Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against
[147]his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve.
[148]Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Silently, in
[149]a dream she had come to him after her death, her wasted body within its
[150]loose brown graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her
[151]breath, that had bent upon him, mute, reproachful, a faint odour of
[152]wetted ashes. Across the threadbare cuffedge he saw the sea hailed as a
[153]great sweet mother by the wellfed voice beside him. The ring of bay
[154]and skyline held a dull green mass of liquid. A bowl of white china had
[155]stood beside her deathbed holding the green sluggish bile which she had
[156]torn up from her rotting liver by fits of loud groaning vomiting.
[157]
[158]Buck Mulligan wiped again his razorblade.
[159]
[160]—Ah, poor dogsbody! he said in a kind voice. I must give you a shirt
[161]and a few noserags. How are the secondhand breeks?
[162]
[163]—They fit well enough, Stephen answered.
[164]
[165]Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his underlip.
[166]
[167]—The mockery of it, he said contentedly. Secondleg they should be. God
[168]knows what poxy bowsy left them off. I have a lovely pair with a hair
[169]stripe, grey. You’ll look spiffing in them. I’m not joking, Kinch.
[170]You look damn well when you’re dressed.
[171]
[172]—Thanks, Stephen said. I can’t wear them if they are grey.
[173]
[174]—He can’t wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror.
[175]Etiquette is etiquette. He kills his mother but he can’t wear grey
[176]trousers.
[177]
[178]He folded his razor neatly and with stroking palps of fingers felt the
[179]smooth skin.
[180]
[181]Stephen turned his gaze from the sea and to the plump face with its
[182]smokeblue mobile eyes.
[183]
[184]—That fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said Buck Mulligan,
[185]says you have g. p. i. He’s up in Dottyville with Connolly Norman.
[186]General paralysis of the insane!
[187]
[188]He swept the mirror a half circle in the air to flash the tidings abroad
[189]in sunlight now radiant on the sea. His curling shaven lips laughed and
[190]the edges of his white glittering teeth. Laughter seized all his strong
[191]wellknit trunk.
[192]
[193]—Look at yourself, he said, you dreadful bard!
[194]
[195]Stephen bent forward and peered at the mirror held out to him, cleft by
[196]a crooked crack. Hair on end. As he and others see me. Who chose this
[197]face for me? This dogsbody to rid of vermin. It asks me too.
[198]
[199]—I pinched it out of the skivvy’s room, Buck Mulligan said. It does
[200]her all right. The aunt always keeps plainlooking servants for Malachi.
[201]Lead him not into temptation. And her name is Ursula.
[202]
[203]Laughing again, he brought the mirror away from Stephen’s peering
[204]eyes.
[205]
[206]—The rage of Caliban at not seeing his face in a mirror, he said. If
[207]Wilde were only alive to see you!
[208]
[209]Drawing back and pointing, Stephen said with bitterness:
[210]
[211]—It is a symbol of Irish art. The cracked lookingglass of a servant.
[212]
[213]Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen’s and walked with him
[214]round the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where he
[215]had thrust them.
[216]
[217]—It’s not fair to tease you like that, Kinch, is it? he said kindly.
[218]God knows you have more spirit than any of them.
[219]
[220]Parried again. He fears the lancet of my art as I fear that of his. The
[221]cold steel pen.
[222]
[223]—Cracked lookingglass of a servant! Tell that to the oxy chap
[224]downstairs and touch him for a guinea. He’s stinking with money and
[225]thinks you’re not a gentleman. His old fellow made his tin by selling
[226]jalap to Zulus or some bloody swindle or other. God, Kinch, if you and I
[227]could only work together we might do something for the island. Hellenise
[228]it.
[229]
[230]Cranly’s arm. His arm.
[231]
[232]—And to think of your having to beg from these swine. I’m the only
[233]one that knows what you are. Why don’t you trust me more? What have
[234]you up your nose against me? Is it Haines? If he makes any noise here
[235]I’ll bring down Seymour and we’ll give him a ragging worse than they
[236]gave Clive Kempthorpe.
[237]
[238]Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe’s rooms. Palefaces:
[239]they hold their ribs with laughter, one clasping another. O, I shall
[240]expire! Break the news to her gently, Aubrey! I shall die! With slit
[241]ribbons of his shirt whipping the air he hops and hobbles round the
[242]table, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with
[243]the tailor’s shears. A scared calf’s face gilded with marmalade. I
[244]don’t want to be debagged! Don’t you play the giddy ox with me!
[245]
[246]Shouts from the open window startling evening in the quadrangle. A deaf
[247]gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold’s face, pushes his mower
[248]on the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms.
[249]
[250]To ourselves... new paganism... omphalos.
[251]
[252]—Let him stay, Stephen said. There’s nothing wrong with him except
[253]at night.
[254]
[255]—Then what is it? Buck Mulligan asked impatiently. Cough it up. I’m
[256]quite frank with you. What have you against me now?
[257]
[258]They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the
[259]water like the snout of a sleeping whale. Stephen freed his arm quietly.
[260]
[261]—Do you wish me to tell you? he asked.
[262]
[263]—Yes, what is it? Buck Mulligan answered. I don’t remember anything.
[264]
[265]He looked in Stephen’s face as he spoke. A light wind passed his brow,
[266]fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of
[267]anxiety in his eyes.
[268]
[269]Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said:
[270]
[271]—Do you remember the first day I went to your house after my
[272]mother’s death?
[273]
[274]Buck Mulligan frowned quickly and said:
[275]
[276]—What? Where? I can’t remember anything. I remember only ideas and
[277]sensations. Why? What happened in the name of God?
[278]
[279]—You were making tea, Stephen said, and went across the landing to
[280]get more hot water. Your mother and some visitor came out of the
[281]drawingroom. She asked you who was in your room.
[282]
[283]—Yes? Buck Mulligan said. What did I say? I forget.
[284]
[285]—You said, Stephen answered, O, it’s only Dedalus whose mother is
[286]beastly dead.
[287]
[288]A flush which made him seem younger and more engaging rose to Buck
[289]Mulligan’s cheek.
[290]
[291]—Did I say that? he asked. Well? What harm is that?
[292]
[293]He shook his constraint from him nervously.
[294]
[295]—And what is death, he asked, your mother’s or yours or my own? You
[296]saw only your mother die. I see them pop off every day in the Mater and
[297]Richmond and cut up into tripes in the dissectingroom. It’s a beastly
[298]thing and nothing else. It simply doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t kneel
[299]down to pray for your mother on her deathbed when she asked you. Why?
[300]Because you have the cursed jesuit strain in you, only it’s injected
[301]the wrong way. To me it’s all a mockery and beastly. Her cerebral
[302]lobes are not functioning. She calls the doctor sir Peter Teazle and
[303]picks buttercups off the quilt. Humour her till it’s over. You crossed
[304]her last wish in death and yet you sulk with me because I don’t whinge
[305]like some hired mute from Lalouette’s. Absurd! I suppose I did say it.
[306]I didn’t mean to offend the memory of your mother.
[307]
[308]He had spoken himself into boldness. Stephen, shielding the gaping
[309]wounds which the words had left in his heart, said very coldly:
[310]
[311]—I am not thinking of the offence to my mother.
[312]
[313]—Of what then? Buck Mulligan asked.
[314]
[315]—Of the offence to me, Stephen answered.
[316]
[317]Buck Mulligan swung round on his heel.
[318]
[319]—O, an impossible person! he exclaimed.
[320]
[321]He walked off quickly round the parapet. Stephen stood at his post,
[322]gazing over the calm sea towards the headland. Sea and headland now grew
[323]dim. Pulses were beating in his eyes, veiling their sight, and he felt
[324]the fever of his cheeks.
[325]
[326]A voice within the tower called loudly:
[327]
[328]—Are you up there, Mulligan?
[329]
[330]—I’m coming, Buck Mulligan answered.
[331]
[332]He turned towards Stephen and said:
[333]
[334]—Look at the sea. What does it care about offences? Chuck Loyola,
[335]Kinch, and come on down. The Sassenach wants his morning rashers.
[336]
[337]His head halted again for a moment at the top of the staircase, level
[338]with the roof:
[339]
[340]—Don’t mope over it all day, he said. I’m inconsequent. Give up
[341]the moody brooding.
[342]
[343]His head vanished but the drone of his descending voice boomed out of
[344]the stairhead:
[345]
[346] And no more turn aside and brood
[347] Upon love’s bitter mystery
[348] For Fergus rules the brazen cars.
[349]Woodshadows floated silently by through the morning peace from the
[350]stairhead seaward where he gazed. Inshore and farther out the mirror of
[351]water whitened, spurned by lightshod hurrying feet. White breast of
[352]the dim sea. The twining stresses, two by two. A hand plucking the
[353]harpstrings, merging their twining chords. Wavewhite wedded words
[354]shimmering on the dim tide.
[355]
[356]A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly, shadowing the bay in
[357]deeper green. It lay beneath him, a bowl of bitter waters. Fergus’
[358]song: I sang it alone in the house, holding down the long dark chords.
[359]Her door was open: she wanted to hear my music. Silent with awe and pity
[360]I went to her bedside. She was crying in her wretched bed. For those
[361]words, Stephen: love’s bitter mystery.
[362]
[363]Where now?
[364]
[365]Her secrets: old featherfans, tasselled dancecards, powdered with musk,
[366]a gaud of amber beads in her locked drawer. A birdcage hung in the sunny
[367]window of her house when she was a girl. She heard old Royce sing in the
[368]pantomime of Turko the Terrible and laughed with others when he sang:
[369]
[370] I am the boy
[371] That can enjoy
[372] Invisibility.
[373]Phantasmal mirth, folded away: muskperfumed.
[374]
[375]And no more turn aside and brood.
[376]
[377]Folded away in the memory of nature with her toys. Memories beset his
[378]brooding brain. Her glass of water from the kitchen tap when she had
[379]approached the sacrament. A cored apple, filled with brown sugar,
[380]roasting for her at the hob on a dark autumn evening. Her shapely
[381]fingernails reddened by the blood of squashed lice from the children’s
[382]shirts.
[383]
[384]In a dream, silently, she had come to him, her wasted body within its
[385]loose graveclothes giving off an odour of wax and rosewood, her breath,
[386]bent over him with mute secret words, a faint odour of wetted ashes.
[387]
[388]Her glazing eyes, staring out of death, to shake and bend my soul. On me
[389]alone. The ghostcandle to light her agony. Ghostly light on the tortured
[390]face. Her hoarse loud breath rattling in horror, while all prayed on
[391]their knees. Her eyes on me to strike me down. Liliata rutilantium te
[392]confessorum turma circumdet: iubilantium te virginum chorus excipiat.
[393]
[394]Ghoul! Chewer of corpses!
[395]
[396]No, mother! Let me be and let me live.
[397]
[398]—Kinch ahoy!
[399]
[400]Buck Mulligan’s voice sang from within the tower. It came nearer up
[401]the staircase, calling again. Stephen, still trembling at his soul’s
[402]cry, heard warm running sunlight and in the air behind him friendly
[403]words.
[404]
[405]—Dedalus, come down, like a good mosey. Breakfast is ready. Haines is
[406]apologising for waking us last night. It’s all right.
[407]
[408]—I’m coming, Stephen said, turning.
[409]
[410]—Do, for Jesus’ sake, Buck Mulligan said. For my sake and for all
[411]our sakes.
[412]
[413]His head disappeared and reappeared.
[414]
[415]—I told him your symbol of Irish art. He says it’s very clever.
[416]Touch him for a quid, will you? A guinea, I mean.
[417]
[418]—I get paid this morning, Stephen said.
[419]
[420]—The school kip? Buck Mulligan said. How much? Four quid? Lend us one.
[421]
[422]—If you want it, Stephen said.
[423]
[424]—Four shining sovereigns, Buck Mulligan cried with delight. We’ll
[425]have a glorious drunk to astonish the druidy druids. Four omnipotent
[426]sovereigns.
[427]
[428]He flung up his hands and tramped down the stone stairs, singing out of
[429]tune with a Cockney accent:
[430]
[431] O, won’t we have a merry time,
[432] Drinking whisky, beer and wine!
[433] On coronation,
[434] Coronation day!
[435] O, won’t we have a merry time
[436] On coronation day!
[437]Warm sunshine merrying over the sea. The nickel shavingbowl shone,
[438]forgotten, on the parapet. Why should I bring it down? Or leave it there
[439]all day, forgotten friendship?
[440]
[441]He went over to it, held it in his hands awhile, feeling its coolness,
[442]smelling the clammy slaver of the lather in which the brush was stuck.
[443]So I carried the boat of incense then at Clongowes. I am another now and
[444]yet the same. A servant too. A server of a servant.
[445]
[446]In the gloomy domed livingroom of the tower Buck Mulligan’s gowned
[447]form moved briskly to and fro about the hearth, hiding and revealing its
[448]yellow glow. Two shafts of soft daylight fell across the flagged floor
[449]from the high barbacans: and at the meeting of their rays a cloud of
[450]coalsmoke and fumes of fried grease floated, turning.
[451]
[452]—We’ll be choked, Buck Mulligan said. Haines, open that door, will
[453]you?
[454]
[455]Stephen laid the shavingbowl on the locker. A tall figure rose from the
[456]hammock where it had been sitting, went to the doorway and pulled open
[457]the inner doors.
[458]
[459]—Have you the key? a voice asked.
[460]
[461]—Dedalus has it, Buck Mulligan said. Janey Mack, I’m choked!
[462]
[463]He howled, without looking up from the fire:
[464]
[465]—Kinch!
[466]
[467]—It’s in the lock, Stephen said, coming forward.
[468]
[469]The key scraped round harshly twice and, when the heavy door had been
[470]set ajar, welcome light and bright air entered. Haines stood at the
[471]doorway, looking out. Stephen haled his upended valise to the table and
[472]sat down to wait. Buck Mulligan tossed the fry on to the dish beside
[473]him. Then he carried the dish and a large teapot over to the table, set
[474]them down heavily and sighed with relief.
[475]
[476]—I’m melting, he said, as the candle remarked when... But, hush!
[477]Not a word more on that subject! Kinch, wake up! Bread, butter, honey.
[478]Haines, come in. The grub is ready. Bless us, O Lord, and these thy
[479]gifts. Where’s the sugar? O, jay, there’s no milk.
[480]
[481]Stephen fetched the loaf and the pot of honey and the buttercooler from
[482]the locker. Buck Mulligan sat down in a sudden pet.
[483]
[484]—What sort of a kip is this? he said. I told her to come after eight.
[485]
[486]—We can drink it black, Stephen said thirstily. There’s a lemon in
[487]the locker.
[488]
[489]—O, damn you and your Paris fads! Buck Mulligan said. I want Sandycove
[490]milk.
[491]
[492]Haines came in from the doorway and said quietly:
[493]
[494]—That woman is coming up with the milk.
[495]
[496]—The blessings of God on you! Buck Mulligan cried, jumping up from his
[497]chair. Sit down. Pour out the tea there. The sugar is in the bag. Here,
[498]I can’t go fumbling at the damned eggs.
[499]
[500]He hacked through the fry on the dish and slapped it out on three
[501]plates, saying:
[502]
[503]—In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti.
[504]
[505]Haines sat down to pour out the tea.
[506]
[507]—I’m giving you two lumps each, he said. But, I say, Mulligan, you
[508]do make strong tea, don’t you?
[509]
[510]Buck Mulligan, hewing thick slices from the loaf, said in an old
[511]woman’s wheedling voice:
[512]
[513]—When I makes tea I makes tea, as old mother Grogan said. And when I
[514]makes water I makes water.
[515]
[516]—By Jove, it is tea, Haines said.
[517]
[518]Buck Mulligan went on hewing and wheedling:
[519]
[520]—So I do, Mrs Cahill, says she. Begob, ma’am, says Mrs Cahill, God
[521]send you don’t make them in the one pot.
[522]
[523]He lunged towards his messmates in turn a thick slice of bread, impaled
[524]on his knife.
[525]
[526]—That’s folk, he said very earnestly, for your book, Haines. Five
[527]lines of text and ten pages of notes about the folk and the fishgods of
[528]Dundrum. Printed by the weird sisters in the year of the big wind.
[529]
[530]He turned to Stephen and asked in a fine puzzled voice, lifting his
[531]brows:
[532]
[533]—Can you recall, brother, is mother Grogan’s tea and water pot
[534]spoken of in the Mabinogion or is it in the Upanishads?
[535]
[536]—I doubt it, said Stephen gravely.
[537]
[538]—Do you now? Buck Mulligan said in the same tone. Your reasons, pray?
[539]
[540]—I fancy, Stephen said as he ate, it did not exist in or out of the
[541]Mabinogion. Mother Grogan was, one imagines, a kinswoman of Mary Ann.
[542]
[543]Buck Mulligan’s face smiled with delight.
[544]
[545]—Charming! he said in a finical sweet voice, showing his white teeth
[546]and blinking his eyes pleasantly. Do you think she was? Quite charming!
[547]
[548]Then, suddenly overclouding all his features, he growled in a hoarsened
[549]rasping voice as he hewed again vigorously at the loaf:
[550]
[551] —For old Mary Ann
[552] She doesn’t care a damn.
[553] But, hising up her petticoats...
[554]He crammed his mouth with fry and munched and droned.
[555]
[556]The doorway was darkened by an entering form.
[557]
[558]—The milk, sir!
[559]
[560]—Come in, ma’am, Mulligan said. Kinch, get the jug.
[561]
[562]An old woman came forward and stood by Stephen’s elbow.
[563]
[564]—That’s a lovely morning, sir, she said. Glory be to God.
[565]
[566]—To whom? Mulligan said, glancing at her. Ah, to be sure!
[567]
[568]Stephen reached back and took the milkjug from the locker.
[569]
[570]—The islanders, Mulligan said to Haines casually, speak frequently of
[571]the collector of prepuces.
[572]
[573]—How much, sir? asked the old woman.
[574]
[575]—A quart, Stephen said.
[576]
[577]He watched her pour into the measure and thence into the jug rich white
[578]milk, not hers. Old shrunken paps. She poured again a measureful and
[579]a tilly. Old and secret she had entered from a morning world, maybe
[580]a messenger. She praised the goodness of the milk, pouring it out.
[581]Crouching by a patient cow at daybreak in the lush field, a witch on her
[582]toadstool, her wrinkled fingers quick at the squirting dugs. They lowed
[583]about her whom they knew, dewsilky cattle. Silk of the kine and poor old
[584]woman, names given her in old times. A wandering crone, lowly form of
[585]an immortal serving her conqueror and her gay betrayer, their common
[586]cuckquean, a messenger from the secret morning. To serve or to upbraid,
[587]whether he could not tell: but scorned to beg her favour.
[588]
[589]—It is indeed, ma’am, Buck Mulligan said, pouring milk into their
[590]cups.
[591]
[592]—Taste it, sir, she said.
[593]
[594]He drank at her bidding.
[595]
[596]—If we could live on good food like that, he said to her somewhat
[597]loudly, we wouldn’t have the country full of rotten teeth and rotten
[598]guts. Living in a bogswamp, eating cheap food and the streets paved with
[599]dust, horsedung and consumptives’ spits.
[600]
[601]—Are you a medical student, sir? the old woman asked.
[602]
[603]—I am, ma’am, Buck Mulligan answered.
[604]
[605]—Look at that now, she said.
[606]
[607]Stephen listened in scornful silence. She bows her old head to a voice
[608]that speaks to her loudly, her bonesetter, her medicineman: me she
[609]slights. To the voice that will shrive and oil for the grave all there
[610]is of her but her woman’s unclean loins, of man’s flesh made not in
[611]God’s likeness, the serpent’s prey. And to the loud voice that now
[612]bids her be silent with wondering unsteady eyes.
[613]
[614]—Do you understand what he says? Stephen asked her.
[615]
[616]—Is it French you are talking, sir? the old woman said to Haines.
[617]
[618]Haines spoke to her again a longer speech, confidently.
[619]
[620]—Irish, Buck Mulligan said. Is there Gaelic on you?
[621]
[622]—I thought it was Irish, she said, by the sound of it. Are you from
[623]the west, sir?
[624]
[625]—I am an Englishman, Haines answered.
[626]
[627]—He’s English, Buck Mulligan said, and he thinks we ought to speak
[628]Irish in Ireland.
[629]
[630]—Sure we ought to, the old woman said, and I’m ashamed I don’t
[631]speak the language myself. I’m told it’s a grand language by them
[632]that knows.
[633]
[634]—Grand is no name for it, said Buck Mulligan. Wonderful entirely. Fill
[635]us out some more tea, Kinch. Would you like a cup, ma’am?
[636]
[637]—No, thank you, sir, the old woman said, slipping the ring of the
[638]milkcan on her forearm and about to go.
[639]
[640]Haines said to her:
[641]
[642]—Have you your bill? We had better pay her, Mulligan, hadn’t we?
[643]
[644]Stephen filled again the three cups.
[645]
[646]—Bill, sir? she said, halting. Well, it’s seven mornings a pint at
[647]twopence is seven twos is a shilling and twopence over and these three
[648]mornings a quart at fourpence is three quarts is a shilling. That’s a
[649]shilling and one and two is two and two, sir.
[650]
[651]Buck Mulligan sighed and, having filled his mouth with a crust thickly
[652]buttered on both sides, stretched forth his legs and began to search his
[653]trouser pockets.
[654]
[655]—Pay up and look pleasant, Haines said to him, smiling.
[656]
[657]Stephen filled a third cup, a spoonful of tea colouring faintly the
[658]thick rich milk. Buck Mulligan brought up a florin, twisted it round in
[659]his fingers and cried:
[660]
[661]—A miracle!
[662]
[663]He passed it along the table towards the old woman, saying:
[664]
[665]—Ask nothing more of me, sweet. All I can give you I give.
[666]
[667]Stephen laid the coin in her uneager hand.
[668]
[669]—We’ll owe twopence, he said.
[670]
[671]—Time enough, sir, she said, taking the coin. Time enough. Good
[672]morning, sir.
[673]
[674]She curtseyed and went out, followed by Buck Mulligan’s tender chant:
[675]
[676] —Heart of my heart, were it more,
[677] More would be laid at your feet.
[678]He turned to Stephen and said:
[679]
[680]—Seriously, Dedalus. I’m stony. Hurry out to your school kip and
[681]bring us back some money. Today the bards must drink and junket. Ireland
[682]expects that every man this day will do his duty.
[683]
[684]—That reminds me, Haines said, rising, that I have to visit your
[685]national library today.
[686]
[687]—Our swim first, Buck Mulligan said.
[688]
[689]He turned to Stephen and asked blandly:
[690]
[691]—Is this the day for your monthly wash, Kinch?
[692]
[693]Then he said to Haines:
[694]
[695]—The unclean bard makes a point of washing once a month.
[696]
[697]—All Ireland is washed by the gulfstream, Stephen said as he let honey
[698]trickle over a slice of the loaf.
[699]
[700]Haines from the corner where he was knotting easily a scarf about the
[701]loose collar of his tennis shirt spoke:
[702]
[703]—I intend to make a collection of your sayings if you will let me.
[704]
[705]Speaking to me. They wash and tub and scrub. Agenbite of inwit.
[706]Conscience. Yet here’s a spot.
[707]
[708]—That one about the cracked lookingglass of a servant being the symbol
[709]of Irish art is deuced good.
[710]
[711]Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen’s foot under the table and said with
[712]warmth of tone:
[713]
[714]—Wait till you hear him on Hamlet, Haines.
[715]
[716]—Well, I mean it, Haines said, still speaking to Stephen. I was just
[717]thinking of it when that poor old creature came in.
[718]
[719]—Would I make any money by it? Stephen asked.
[720]
[721]Haines laughed and, as he took his soft grey hat from the holdfast of
[722]the hammock, said:
[723]
[724]—I don’t know, I’m sure.
[725]
[726]He strolled out to the doorway. Buck Mulligan bent across to Stephen and
[727]said with coarse vigour:
[728]
[729]—You put your hoof in it now. What did you say that for?
[730]
[731]—Well? Stephen said. The problem is to get money. From whom? From the
[732]milkwoman or from him. It’s a toss up, I think.
[733]
[734]—I blow him out about you, Buck Mulligan said, and then you come along
[735]with your lousy leer and your gloomy jesuit jibes.
[736]
[737]—I see little hope, Stephen said, from her or from him.
[738]
[739]Buck Mulligan sighed tragically and laid his hand on Stephen’s arm.
[740]
[741]—From me, Kinch, he said.
[742]
[743]In a suddenly changed tone he added:
[744]
[745]—To tell you the God’s truth I think you’re right. Damn all else
[746]they are good for. Why don’t you play them as I do? To hell with them
[747]all. Let us get out of the kip.
[748]
[749]He stood up, gravely ungirdled and disrobed himself of his gown, saying
[750]resignedly:
[751]
[752]—Mulligan is stripped of his garments.
[753]
[754]He emptied his pockets on to the table.
[755]
[756]—There’s your snotrag, he said.
[757]
[758]And putting on his stiff collar and rebellious tie he spoke to them,
[759]chiding them, and to his dangling watchchain. His hands plunged and
[760]rummaged in his trunk while he called for a clean handkerchief. God,
[761]we’ll simply have to dress the character. I want puce gloves and
[762]green boots. Contradiction. Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I
[763]contradict myself. Mercurial Malachi. A limp black missile flew out of
[764]his talking hands.
[765]
[766]—And there’s your Latin quarter hat, he said.
[767]
[768]Stephen picked it up and put it on. Haines called to them from the
[769]doorway:
[770]
[771]—Are you coming, you fellows?
[772]
[773]—I’m ready, Buck Mulligan answered, going towards the door. Come
[774]out, Kinch. You have eaten all we left, I suppose. Resigned he passed
[775]out with grave words and gait, saying, wellnigh with sorrow:
[776]
[777]—And going forth he met Butterly.
[778]
[779]Stephen, taking his ashplant from its leaningplace, followed them out
[780]and, as they went down the ladder, pulled to the slow iron door and
[781]locked it. He put the huge key in his inner pocket.
[782]
[783]At the foot of the ladder Buck Mulligan asked:
[784]
[785]—Did you bring the key?
[786]
[787]—I have it, Stephen said, preceding them.
[788]
[789]He walked on. Behind him he heard Buck Mulligan club with his heavy
[790]bathtowel the leader shoots of ferns or grasses.
[791]
[792]—Down, sir! How dare you, sir!
[793]
[794]Haines asked:
[795]
[796]—Do you pay rent for this tower?
[797]
[798]—Twelve quid, Buck Mulligan said.
[799]
[800]—To the secretary of state for war, Stephen added over his shoulder.
[801]
[802]They halted while Haines surveyed the tower and said at last:
[803]
[804]—Rather bleak in wintertime, I should say. Martello you call it?
[805]
[806]—Billy Pitt had them built, Buck Mulligan said, when the French were
[807]on the sea. But ours is the omphalos.
[808]
[809]—What is your idea of Hamlet? Haines asked Stephen.
[810]
[811]—No, no, Buck Mulligan shouted in pain. I’m not equal to Thomas
[812]Aquinas and the fiftyfive reasons he has made out to prop it up. Wait
[813]till I have a few pints in me first.
[814]
[815]He turned to Stephen, saying, as he pulled down neatly the peaks of his
[816]primrose waistcoat:
[817]
[818]—You couldn’t manage it under three pints, Kinch, could you?
[819]
[820]—It has waited so long, Stephen said listlessly, it can wait longer.
[821]
[822]—You pique my curiosity, Haines said amiably. Is it some paradox?
[823]
[824]—Pooh! Buck Mulligan said. We have grown out of Wilde and paradoxes.
[825]It’s quite simple. He proves by algebra that Hamlet’s grandson is
[826]Shakespeare’s grandfather and that he himself is the ghost of his own
[827]father.
[828]
[829]—What? Haines said, beginning to point at Stephen. He himself?
[830]
[831]Buck Mulligan slung his towel stolewise round his neck and, bending in
[832]loose laughter, said to Stephen’s ear:
[833]
[834]—O, shade of Kinch the elder! Japhet in search of a father!
[835]
[836]—We’re always tired in the morning, Stephen said to Haines. And it
[837]is rather long to tell.
[838]
[839]Buck Mulligan, walking forward again, raised his hands.
[840]
[841]—The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue of Dedalus, he said.
[842]
[843]—I mean to say, Haines explained to Stephen as they followed, this
[844]tower and these cliffs here remind me somehow of Elsinore. That beetles
[845]o’er his base into the sea, isn’t it?
[846]
[847]Buck Mulligan turned suddenly for an instant towards Stephen but did not
[848]speak. In the bright silent instant Stephen saw his own image in cheap
[849]dusty mourning between their gay attires.
[850]
[851]—It’s a wonderful tale, Haines said, bringing them to halt again.
[852]
[853]Eyes, pale as the sea the wind had freshened, paler, firm and prudent.
[854]The seas’ ruler, he gazed southward over the bay, empty save for
[855]the smokeplume of the mailboat vague on the bright skyline and a sail
[856]tacking by the Muglins.
[857]
[858]—I read a theological interpretation of it somewhere, he said bemused.
[859]The Father and the Son idea. The Son striving to be atoned with the
[860]Father.
[861]
[862]Buck Mulligan at once put on a blithe broadly smiling face. He looked
[863]at them, his wellshaped mouth open happily, his eyes, from which he had
[864]suddenly withdrawn all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety. He moved
[865]a doll’s head to and fro, the brims of his Panama hat quivering, and
[866]began to chant in a quiet happy foolish voice:
[867]
[868] —I’m the queerest young fellow that ever you heard.
[869] My mother’s a jew, my father’s a bird.
[870] With Joseph the joiner I cannot agree.
[871] So here’s to disciples and Calvary.
[872]He held up a forefinger of warning.
[873]
[874] —If anyone thinks that I amn’t divine
[875] He’ll get no free drinks when I’m making the wine
[876] But have to drink water and wish it were plain
[877] That I make when the wine becomes water again.
[878]He tugged swiftly at Stephen’s ashplant in farewell and, running
[879]forward to a brow of the cliff, fluttered his hands at his sides like
[880]fins or wings of one about to rise in the air, and chanted:
[881]
[882] —Goodbye, now, goodbye! Write down all I said
[883] And tell Tom, Dick and Harry I rose from the dead.
[884] What’s bred in the bone cannot fail me to fly
[885] And Olivet’s breezy... Goodbye, now, goodbye!
[886]He capered before them down towards the fortyfoot hole, fluttering his
[887]winglike hands, leaping nimbly, Mercury’s hat quivering in the fresh
[888]wind that bore back to them his brief birdsweet cries.
[889]
[890]Haines, who had been laughing guardedly, walked on beside Stephen and
[891]said:
[892]
[893]—We oughtn’t to laugh, I suppose. He’s rather blasphemous. I’m
[894]not a believer myself, that is to say. Still his gaiety takes the harm
[895]out of it somehow, doesn’t it? What did he call it? Joseph the Joiner?
[896]
[897]—The ballad of joking Jesus, Stephen answered.
[898]
[899]—O, Haines said, you have heard it before?
[900]
[901]—Three times a day, after meals, Stephen said drily.
[902]
[903]—You’re not a believer, are you? Haines asked. I mean, a believer in
[904]the narrow sense of the word. Creation from nothing and miracles and a
[905]personal God.
[906]
[907]—There’s only one sense of the word, it seems to me, Stephen said.
[908]
[909]Haines stopped to take out a smooth silver case in which twinkled a
[910]green stone. He sprang it open with his thumb and offered it.
[911]
[912]—Thank you, Stephen said, taking a cigarette.
[913]
[914]Haines helped himself and snapped the case to. He put it back in his
[915]sidepocket and took from his waistcoatpocket a nickel tinderbox, sprang
[916]it open too, and, having lit his cigarette, held the flaming spunk
[917]towards Stephen in the shell of his hands.
[918]
[919]—Yes, of course, he said, as they went on again. Either you believe or
[920]you don’t, isn’t it? Personally I couldn’t stomach that idea of a
[921]personal God. You don’t stand for that, I suppose?
[922]
[923]—You behold in me, Stephen said with grim displeasure, a horrible
[924]example of free thought.
[925]
[926]He walked on, waiting to be spoken to, trailing his ashplant by his
[927]side. Its ferrule followed lightly on the path, squealing at his heels.
[928]My familiar, after me, calling, Steeeeeeeeeeeephen! A wavering line
[929]along the path. They will walk on it tonight, coming here in the dark.
[930]He wants that key. It is mine. I paid the rent. Now I eat his salt
[931]bread. Give him the key too. All. He will ask for it. That was in his
[932]eyes.
[933]
[934]—After all, Haines began...
[935]
[936]Stephen turned and saw that the cold gaze which had measured him was not
[937]all unkind.
[938]
[939]—After all, I should think you are able to free yourself. You are your
[940]own master, it seems to me.
[941]
[942]—I am a servant of two masters, Stephen said, an English and an
[943]Italian.
[944]
[945]—Italian? Haines said.
[946]
[947]A crazy queen, old and jealous. Kneel down before me.
[948]
[949]—And a third, Stephen said, there is who wants me for odd jobs.
[950]
[951]—Italian? Haines said again. What do you mean?
[952]
[953]—The imperial British state, Stephen answered, his colour rising, and
[954]the holy Roman catholic and apostolic church.
[955]
[956]Haines detached from his underlip some fibres of tobacco before he
[957]spoke.
[958]
[959]—I can quite understand that, he said calmly. An Irishman must think
[960]like that, I daresay. We feel in England that we have treated you rather
[961]unfairly. It seems history is to blame.
[962]
[963]The proud potent titles clanged over Stephen’s memory the triumph of
[964]their brazen bells: et unam sanctam catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam:
[965]the slow growth and change of rite and dogma like his own rare thoughts,
[966]a chemistry of stars. Symbol of the apostles in the mass for pope
[967]Marcellus, the voices blended, singing alone loud in affirmation: and
[968]behind their chant the vigilant angel of the church militant disarmed
[969]and menaced her heresiarchs. A horde of heresies fleeing with mitres
[970]awry: Photius and the brood of mockers of whom Mulligan was one, and
[971]Arius, warring his life long upon the consubstantiality of the Son with
[972]the Father, and Valentine, spurning Christ’s terrene body, and the
[973]subtle African heresiarch Sabellius who held that the Father was Himself
[974]His own Son. Words Mulligan had spoken a moment since in mockery to the
[975]stranger. Idle mockery. The void awaits surely all them that weave the
[976]wind: a menace, a disarming and a worsting from those embattled angels
[977]of the church, Michael’s host, who defend her ever in the hour of
[978]conflict with their lances and their shields.
[979]
[980]Hear, hear! Prolonged applause. Zut! Nom de Dieu!
[981]
[982]—Of course I’m a Britisher, Haines’s voice said, and I feel as
[983]one. I don’t want to see my country fall into the hands of German jews
[984]either. That’s our national problem, I’m afraid, just now.
[985]
[986]Two men stood at the verge of the cliff, watching: businessman, boatman.
[987]
[988]—She’s making for Bullock harbour.
[989]
[990]The boatman nodded towards the north of the bay with some disdain.
[991]
[992]—There’s five fathoms out there, he said. It’ll be swept up that
[993]way when the tide comes in about one. It’s nine days today.
[994]
[995]The man that was drowned. A sail veering about the blank bay waiting
[996]for a swollen bundle to bob up, roll over to the sun a puffy face,
[997]saltwhite. Here I am.
[998]
[999]They followed the winding path down to the creek. Buck Mulligan stood on
[1000]a stone, in shirtsleeves, his unclipped tie rippling over his shoulder.
[1001]A young man clinging to a spur of rock near him, moved slowly frogwise
[1002]his green legs in the deep jelly of the water.
[1003]
[1004]—Is the brother with you, Malachi?
[1005]
[1006]—Down in Westmeath. With the Bannons.
[1007]
[1008]—Still there? I got a card from Bannon. Says he found a sweet young
[1009]thing down there. Photo girl he calls her.
[1010]
[1011]—Snapshot, eh? Brief exposure.
[1012]
[1013]Buck Mulligan sat down to unlace his boots. An elderly man shot up near
[1014]the spur of rock a blowing red face. He scrambled up by the stones,
[1015]water glistening on his pate and on its garland of grey hair, water
[1016]rilling over his chest and paunch and spilling jets out of his black
[1017]sagging loincloth.
[1018]
[1019]Buck Mulligan made way for him to scramble past and, glancing at Haines
[1020]and Stephen, crossed himself piously with his thumbnail at brow and lips
[1021]and breastbone.
[1022]
[1023]—Seymour’s back in town, the young man said, grasping again his spur
[1024]of rock. Chucked medicine and going in for the army.
[1025]
[1026]—Ah, go to God! Buck Mulligan said.
[1027]
[1028]—Going over next week to stew. You know that red Carlisle girl, Lily?
[1029]
[1030]—Yes.
[1031]
[1032]—Spooning with him last night on the pier. The father is rotto with
[1033]money.
[1034]
[1035]—Is she up the pole?
[1036]
[1037]—Better ask Seymour that.
[1038]
[1039]—Seymour a bleeding officer! Buck Mulligan said.
[1040]
[1041]He nodded to himself as he drew off his trousers and stood up, saying
[1042]tritely:
[1043]
[1044]—Redheaded women buck like goats.
[1045]
[1046]He broke off in alarm, feeling his side under his flapping shirt.
[1047]
[1048]—My twelfth rib is gone, he cried. I’m the Übermensch. Toothless
[1049]Kinch and I, the supermen.
[1050]
[1051]He struggled out of his shirt and flung it behind him to where his
[1052]clothes lay.
[1053]
[1054]—Are you going in here, Malachi?
[1055]
[1056]—Yes. Make room in the bed.
[1057]
[1058]The young man shoved himself backward through the water and reached
[1059]the middle of the creek in two long clean strokes. Haines sat down on a
[1060]stone, smoking.
[1061]
[1062]—Are you not coming in? Buck Mulligan asked.
[1063]
[1064]—Later on, Haines said. Not on my breakfast.
[1065]
[1066]Stephen turned away.
[1067]
[1068]—I’m going, Mulligan, he said.
[1069]
[1070]—Give us that key, Kinch, Buck Mulligan said, to keep my chemise flat.
[1071]
[1072]Stephen handed him the key. Buck Mulligan laid it across his heaped
[1073]clothes.
[1074]
[1075]—And twopence, he said, for a pint. Throw it there.
[1076]
[1077]Stephen threw two pennies on the soft heap. Dressing, undressing. Buck
[1078]Mulligan erect, with joined hands before him, said solemnly:
[1079]
[1080]—He who stealeth from the poor lendeth to the Lord. Thus spake
[1081]Zarathustra.
[1082]
[1083]His plump body plunged.
[1084]
[1085]—We’ll see you again, Haines said, turning as Stephen walked up the
[1086]path and smiling at wild Irish.
[1087]
[1088]Horn of a bull, hoof of a horse, smile of a Saxon.
[1089]
[1090]—The Ship, Buck Mulligan cried. Half twelve.
[1091]
[1092]—Good, Stephen said.
[1093]
[1094]He walked along the upwardcurving path.
[1095]
[1096] Liliata rutilantium.
[1097] Turma circumdet.
[1098] Iubilantium te virginum.
[1099]The priest’s grey nimbus in a niche where he dressed discreetly. I
[1100]will not sleep here tonight. Home also I cannot go.
[1101]
[1102]A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from the sea. Turning
[1103]the curve he waved his hand. It called again. A sleek brown head, a
[1104]seal’s, far out on the water, round.
[1105]
[1106]Usurper.
[1107]
[1108]
[1109]
[1110]
[1111]
[1112]