4. Calypso
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[2406][ 4 ]
[2407]
[2408]Mr Leopold Bloom ate with relish the inner organs of beasts and fowls.
[2409]He liked thick giblet soup, nutty gizzards, a stuffed roast heart,
[2410]liverslices fried with crustcrumbs, fried hencods’ roes. Most of all
[2411]he liked grilled mutton kidneys which gave to his palate a fine tang of
[2412]faintly scented urine.
[2413]
[2414]Kidneys were in his mind as he moved about the kitchen softly, righting
[2415]her breakfast things on the humpy tray. Gelid light and air were in the
[2416]kitchen but out of doors gentle summer morning everywhere. Made him feel
[2417]a bit peckish.
[2418]
[2419]The coals were reddening.
[2420]
[2421]Another slice of bread and butter: three, four: right. She didn’t like
[2422]her plate full. Right. He turned from the tray, lifted the kettle off
[2423]the hob and set it sideways on the fire. It sat there, dull and squat,
[2424]its spout stuck out. Cup of tea soon. Good. Mouth dry. The cat walked
[2425]stiffly round a leg of the table with tail on high.
[2426]
[2427]—Mkgnao!
[2428]
[2429]—O, there you are, Mr Bloom said, turning from the fire.
[2430]
[2431]The cat mewed in answer and stalked again stiffly round a leg of the
[2432]table, mewing. Just how she stalks over my writingtable. Prr. Scratch my
[2433]head. Prr.
[2434]
[2435]Mr Bloom watched curiously, kindly the lithe black form. Clean to see:
[2436]the gloss of her sleek hide, the white button under the butt of her
[2437]tail, the green flashing eyes. He bent down to her, his hands on his
[2438]knees.
[2439]
[2440]—Milk for the pussens, he said.
[2441]
[2442]—Mrkgnao! the cat cried.
[2443]
[2444]They call them stupid. They understand what we say better than we
[2445]understand them. She understands all she wants to. Vindictive too.
[2446]Cruel. Her nature. Curious mice never squeal. Seem to like it. Wonder
[2447]what I look like to her. Height of a tower? No, she can jump me.
[2448]
[2449]—Afraid of the chickens she is, he said mockingly. Afraid of the
[2450]chookchooks. I never saw such a stupid pussens as the pussens.
[2451]
[2452]—Mrkrgnao! the cat said loudly.
[2453]
[2454]She blinked up out of her avid shameclosing eyes, mewing plaintively
[2455]and long, showing him her milkwhite teeth. He watched the dark eyeslits
[2456]narrowing with greed till her eyes were green stones. Then he went to
[2457]the dresser, took the jug Hanlon’s milkman had just filled for him,
[2458]poured warmbubbled milk on a saucer and set it slowly on the floor.
[2459]
[2460]—Gurrhr! she cried, running to lap.
[2461]
[2462]He watched the bristles shining wirily in the weak light as she tipped
[2463]three times and licked lightly. Wonder is it true if you clip them they
[2464]can’t mouse after. Why? They shine in the dark, perhaps, the tips. Or
[2465]kind of feelers in the dark, perhaps.
[2466]
[2467]He listened to her licking lap. Ham and eggs, no. No good eggs with this
[2468]drouth. Want pure fresh water. Thursday: not a good day either for a
[2469]mutton kidney at Buckley’s. Fried with butter, a shake of pepper.
[2470]Better a pork kidney at Dlugacz’s. While the kettle is boiling. She
[2471]lapped slower, then licking the saucer clean. Why are their tongues so
[2472]rough? To lap better, all porous holes. Nothing she can eat? He glanced
[2473]round him. No.
[2474]
[2475]On quietly creaky boots he went up the staircase to the hall, paused by
[2476]the bedroom door. She might like something tasty. Thin bread and butter
[2477]she likes in the morning. Still perhaps: once in a way.
[2478]
[2479]He said softly in the bare hall:
[2480]
[2481]—I’m going round the corner. Be back in a minute.
[2482]
[2483]And when he had heard his voice say it he added:
[2484]
[2485]—You don’t want anything for breakfast?
[2486]
[2487]A sleepy soft grunt answered:
[2488]
[2489]—Mn.
[2490]
[2491]No. She didn’t want anything. He heard then a warm heavy sigh, softer,
[2492]as she turned over and the loose brass quoits of the bedstead jingled.
[2493]Must get those settled really. Pity. All the way from Gibraltar.
[2494]Forgotten any little Spanish she knew. Wonder what her father gave for
[2495]it. Old style. Ah yes! of course. Bought it at the governor’s auction.
[2496]Got a short knock. Hard as nails at a bargain, old Tweedy. Yes, sir.
[2497]At Plevna that was. I rose from the ranks, sir, and I’m proud of it.
[2498]Still he had brains enough to make that corner in stamps. Now that was
[2499]farseeing.
[2500]
[2501]His hand took his hat from the peg over his initialled heavy overcoat
[2502]and his lost property office secondhand waterproof. Stamps: stickyback
[2503]pictures. Daresay lots of officers are in the swim too. Course they do.
[2504]The sweated legend in the crown of his hat told him mutely: Plasto’s
[2505]high grade ha. He peeped quickly inside the leather headband. White slip
[2506]of paper. Quite safe.
[2507]
[2508]On the doorstep he felt in his hip pocket for the latchkey. Not there.
[2509]In the trousers I left off. Must get it. Potato I have. Creaky wardrobe.
[2510]No use disturbing her. She turned over sleepily that time. He pulled
[2511]the halldoor to after him very quietly, more, till the footleaf dropped
[2512]gently over the threshold, a limp lid. Looked shut. All right till I
[2513]come back anyhow.
[2514]
[2515]He crossed to the bright side, avoiding the loose cellarflap of number
[2516]seventyfive. The sun was nearing the steeple of George’s church. Be a
[2517]warm day I fancy. Specially in these black clothes feel it more. Black
[2518]conducts, reflects, (refracts is it?), the heat. But I couldn’t go in
[2519]that light suit. Make a picnic of it. His eyelids sank quietly often as
[2520]he walked in happy warmth. Boland’s breadvan delivering with trays our
[2521]daily but she prefers yesterday’s loaves turnovers crisp crowns hot.
[2522]Makes you feel young. Somewhere in the east: early morning: set off at
[2523]dawn. Travel round in front of the sun, steal a day’s march on him.
[2524]Keep it up for ever never grow a day older technically. Walk along a
[2525]strand, strange land, come to a city gate, sentry there, old ranker too,
[2526]old Tweedy’s big moustaches, leaning on a long kind of a spear. Wander
[2527]through awned streets. Turbaned faces going by. Dark caves of carpet
[2528]shops, big man, Turko the terrible, seated crosslegged, smoking a coiled
[2529]pipe. Cries of sellers in the streets. Drink water scented with fennel,
[2530]sherbet. Dander along all day. Might meet a robber or two. Well,
[2531]meet him. Getting on to sundown. The shadows of the mosques among the
[2532]pillars: priest with a scroll rolled up. A shiver of the trees, signal,
[2533]the evening wind. I pass on. Fading gold sky. A mother watches me from
[2534]her doorway. She calls her children home in their dark language.
[2535]High wall: beyond strings twanged. Night sky, moon, violet, colour of
[2536]Molly’s new garters. Strings. Listen. A girl playing one of those
[2537]instruments what do you call them: dulcimers. I pass.
[2538]
[2539]Probably not a bit like it really. Kind of stuff you read: in the track
[2540]of the sun. Sunburst on the titlepage. He smiled, pleasing himself.
[2541]What Arthur Griffith said about the headpiece over the Freeman leader: a
[2542]homerule sun rising up in the northwest from the laneway behind the bank
[2543]of Ireland. He prolonged his pleased smile. Ikey touch that: homerule
[2544]sun rising up in the northwest.
[2545]
[2546]He approached Larry O’Rourke’s. From the cellar grating floated up
[2547]the flabby gush of porter. Through the open doorway the bar squirted out
[2548]whiffs of ginger, teadust, biscuitmush. Good house, however: just the
[2549]end of the city traffic. For instance M’Auley’s down there: n. g. as
[2550]position. Of course if they ran a tramline along the North Circular from
[2551]the cattlemarket to the quays value would go up like a shot.
[2552]
[2553]Baldhead over the blind. Cute old codger. No use canvassing him for an
[2554]ad. Still he knows his own business best. There he is, sure enough, my
[2555]bold Larry, leaning against the sugarbin in his shirtsleeves watching
[2556]the aproned curate swab up with mop and bucket. Simon Dedalus takes him
[2557]off to a tee with his eyes screwed up. Do you know what I’m going to
[2558]tell you? What’s that, Mr O’Rourke? Do you know what? The Russians,
[2559]they’d only be an eight o’clock breakfast for the Japanese.
[2560]
[2561]Stop and say a word: about the funeral perhaps. Sad thing about poor
[2562]Dignam, Mr O’Rourke.
[2563]
[2564]Turning into Dorset street he said freshly in greeting through the
[2565]doorway:
[2566]
[2567]—Good day, Mr O’Rourke.
[2568]
[2569]—Good day to you.
[2570]
[2571]—Lovely weather, sir.
[2572]
[2573]—’Tis all that.
[2574]
[2575]Where do they get the money? Coming up redheaded curates from the county
[2576]Leitrim, rinsing empties and old man in the cellar. Then, lo and behold,
[2577]they blossom out as Adam Findlaters or Dan Tallons. Then think of the
[2578]competition. General thirst. Good puzzle would be cross Dublin without
[2579]passing a pub. Save it they can’t. Off the drunks perhaps. Put down
[2580]three and carry five. What is that, a bob here and there, dribs and
[2581]drabs. On the wholesale orders perhaps. Doing a double shuffle with the
[2582]town travellers. Square it you with the boss and we’ll split the job,
[2583]see?
[2584]
[2585]How much would that tot to off the porter in the month? Say ten barrels
[2586]of stuff. Say he got ten per cent off. O more. Fifteen. He passed Saint
[2587]Joseph’s National school. Brats’ clamour. Windows open. Fresh air
[2588]helps memory. Or a lilt. Ahbeesee defeegee kelomen opeecue rustyouvee
[2589]doubleyou. Boys are they? Yes. Inishturk. Inishark. Inishboffin. At
[2590]their joggerfry. Mine. Slieve Bloom.
[2591]
[2592]He halted before Dlugacz’s window, staring at the hanks of sausages,
[2593]polonies, black and white. Fifteen multiplied by. The figures whitened
[2594]in his mind, unsolved: displeased, he let them fade. The shiny links,
[2595]packed with forcemeat, fed his gaze and he breathed in tranquilly the
[2596]lukewarm breath of cooked spicy pigs’ blood.
[2597]
[2598]A kidney oozed bloodgouts on the willowpatterned dish: the last. He
[2599]stood by the nextdoor girl at the counter. Would she buy it too, calling
[2600]the items from a slip in her hand? Chapped: washingsoda. And a pound
[2601]and a half of Denny’s sausages. His eyes rested on her vigorous hips.
[2602]Woods his name is. Wonder what he does. Wife is oldish. New blood.
[2603]No followers allowed. Strong pair of arms. Whacking a carpet on the
[2604]clothesline. She does whack it, by George. The way her crooked skirt
[2605]swings at each whack.
[2606]
[2607]The ferreteyed porkbutcher folded the sausages he had snipped off with
[2608]blotchy fingers, sausagepink. Sound meat there: like a stallfed heifer.
[2609]
[2610]He took a page up from the pile of cut sheets: the model farm at
[2611]Kinnereth on the lakeshore of Tiberias. Can become ideal winter
[2612]sanatorium. Moses Montefiore. I thought he was. Farmhouse, wall round
[2613]it, blurred cattle cropping. He held the page from him: interesting:
[2614]read it nearer, the title, the blurred cropping cattle, the page
[2615]rustling. A young white heifer. Those mornings in the cattlemarket, the
[2616]beasts lowing in their pens, branded sheep, flop and fall of dung, the
[2617]breeders in hobnailed boots trudging through the litter, slapping a palm
[2618]on a ripemeated hindquarter, there’s a prime one, unpeeled switches in
[2619]their hands. He held the page aslant patiently, bending his senses and
[2620]his will, his soft subject gaze at rest. The crooked skirt swinging,
[2621]whack by whack by whack.
[2622]
[2623]The porkbutcher snapped two sheets from the pile, wrapped up her prime
[2624]sausages and made a red grimace.
[2625]
[2626]—Now, my miss, he said.
[2627]
[2628]She tendered a coin, smiling boldly, holding her thick wrist out.
[2629]
[2630]—Thank you, my miss. And one shilling threepence change. For you,
[2631]please?
[2632]
[2633]Mr Bloom pointed quickly. To catch up and walk behind her if she went
[2634]slowly, behind her moving hams. Pleasant to see first thing in the
[2635]morning. Hurry up, damn it. Make hay while the sun shines. She stood
[2636]outside the shop in sunlight and sauntered lazily to the right. He
[2637]sighed down his nose: they never understand. Sodachapped hands. Crusted
[2638]toenails too. Brown scapulars in tatters, defending her both ways.
[2639]The sting of disregard glowed to weak pleasure within his breast. For
[2640]another: a constable off duty cuddling her in Eccles’ Lane. They like
[2641]them sizeable. Prime sausage. O please, Mr Policeman, I’m lost in the
[2642]wood.
[2643]
[2644]—Threepence, please.
[2645]
[2646]His hand accepted the moist tender gland and slid it into a sidepocket.
[2647]Then it fetched up three coins from his trousers’ pocket and laid them
[2648]on the rubber prickles. They lay, were read quickly and quickly slid,
[2649]disc by disc, into the till.
[2650]
[2651]—Thank you, sir. Another time.
[2652]
[2653]A speck of eager fire from foxeyes thanked him. He withdrew his gaze
[2654]after an instant. No: better not: another time.
[2655]
[2656]—Good morning, he said, moving away.
[2657]
[2658]—Good morning, sir.
[2659]
[2660]No sign. Gone. What matter?
[2661]
[2662]He walked back along Dorset street, reading gravely. Agendath Netaim:
[2663]planters’ company. To purchase waste sandy tracts from Turkish
[2664]government and plant with eucalyptus trees. Excellent for shade, fuel
[2665]and construction. Orangegroves and immense melonfields north of Jaffa.
[2666]You pay eighty marks and they plant a dunam of land for you with olives,
[2667]oranges, almonds or citrons. Olives cheaper: oranges need artificial
[2668]irrigation. Every year you get a sending of the crop. Your name entered
[2669]for life as owner in the book of the union. Can pay ten down and the
[2670]balance in yearly instalments. Bleibtreustrasse 34, Berlin, W. 15.
[2671]
[2672]Nothing doing. Still an idea behind it.
[2673]
[2674]He looked at the cattle, blurred in silver heat. Silverpowdered
[2675]olivetrees. Quiet long days: pruning, ripening. Olives are packed in
[2676]jars, eh? I have a few left from Andrews. Molly spitting them out. Knows
[2677]the taste of them now. Oranges in tissue paper packed in crates.
[2678]Citrons too. Wonder is poor Citron still in Saint Kevin’s parade. And
[2679]Mastiansky with the old cither. Pleasant evenings we had then. Molly
[2680]in Citron’s basketchair. Nice to hold, cool waxen fruit, hold in the
[2681]hand, lift it to the nostrils and smell the perfume. Like that, heavy,
[2682]sweet, wild perfume. Always the same, year after year. They fetched high
[2683]prices too, Moisel told me. Arbutus place: Pleasants street: pleasant
[2684]old times. Must be without a flaw, he said. Coming all that way: Spain,
[2685]Gibraltar, Mediterranean, the Levant. Crates lined up on the quayside at
[2686]Jaffa, chap ticking them off in a book, navvies handling them barefoot
[2687]in soiled dungarees. There’s whatdoyoucallhim out of. How do you?
[2688]Doesn’t see. Chap you know just to salute bit of a bore. His back
[2689]is like that Norwegian captain’s. Wonder if I’ll meet him today.
[2690]Watering cart. To provoke the rain. On earth as it is in heaven.
[2691]
[2692]A cloud began to cover the sun slowly, wholly. Grey. Far.
[2693]
[2694]No, not like that. A barren land, bare waste. Vulcanic lake, the dead
[2695]sea: no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the earth. No wind could lift those
[2696]waves, grey metal, poisonous foggy waters. Brimstone they called it
[2697]raining down: the cities of the plain: Sodom, Gomorrah, Edom. All dead
[2698]names. A dead sea in a dead land, grey and old. Old now. It bore the
[2699]oldest, the first race. A bent hag crossed from Cassidy’s, clutching a
[2700]naggin bottle by the neck. The oldest people. Wandered far away over
[2701]all the earth, captivity to captivity, multiplying, dying, being born
[2702]everywhere. It lay there now. Now it could bear no more. Dead: an old
[2703]woman’s: the grey sunken cunt of the world.
[2704]
[2705]Desolation.
[2706]
[2707]Grey horror seared his flesh. Folding the page into his pocket he turned
[2708]into Eccles street, hurrying homeward. Cold oils slid along his veins,
[2709]chilling his blood: age crusting him with a salt cloak. Well, I am here
[2710]now. Yes, I am here now. Morning mouth bad images. Got up wrong side of
[2711]the bed. Must begin again those Sandow’s exercises. On the hands down.
[2712]Blotchy brown brick houses. Number eighty still unlet. Why is that?
[2713]Valuation is only twentyeight. Towers, Battersby, North, MacArthur:
[2714]parlour windows plastered with bills. Plasters on a sore eye. To smell
[2715]the gentle smoke of tea, fume of the pan, sizzling butter. Be near her
[2716]ample bedwarmed flesh. Yes, yes.
[2717]
[2718]Quick warm sunlight came running from Berkeley road, swiftly, in slim
[2719]sandals, along the brightening footpath. Runs, she runs to meet me, a
[2720]girl with gold hair on the wind.
[2721]
[2722]Two letters and a card lay on the hallfloor. He stooped and gathered
[2723]them. Mrs Marion Bloom. His quickened heart slowed at once. Bold hand.
[2724]Mrs Marion.
[2725]
[2726]—Poldy!
[2727]
[2728]Entering the bedroom he halfclosed his eyes and walked through warm
[2729]yellow twilight towards her tousled head.
[2730]
[2731]—Who are the letters for?
[2732]
[2733]He looked at them. Mullingar. Milly.
[2734]
[2735]—A letter for me from Milly, he said carefully, and a card to you. And
[2736]a letter for you.
[2737]
[2738]He laid her card and letter on the twill bedspread near the curve of her
[2739]knees.
[2740]
[2741]—Do you want the blind up?
[2742]
[2743]Letting the blind up by gentle tugs halfway his backward eye saw her
[2744]glance at the letter and tuck it under her pillow.
[2745]
[2746]—That do? he asked, turning.
[2747]
[2748]She was reading the card, propped on her elbow.
[2749]
[2750]—She got the things, she said.
[2751]
[2752]He waited till she had laid the card aside and curled herself back
[2753]slowly with a snug sigh.
[2754]
[2755]—Hurry up with that tea, she said. I’m parched.
[2756]
[2757]—The kettle is boiling, he said.
[2758]
[2759]But he delayed to clear the chair: her striped petticoat, tossed soiled
[2760]linen: and lifted all in an armful on to the foot of the bed.
[2761]
[2762]As he went down the kitchen stairs she called:
[2763]
[2764]—Poldy!
[2765]
[2766]—What?
[2767]
[2768]—Scald the teapot.
[2769]
[2770]On the boil sure enough: a plume of steam from the spout. He scalded and
[2771]rinsed out the teapot and put in four full spoons of tea, tilting the
[2772]kettle then to let the water flow in. Having set it to draw he took off
[2773]the kettle, crushed the pan flat on the live coals and watched the lump
[2774]of butter slide and melt. While he unwrapped the kidney the cat mewed
[2775]hungrily against him. Give her too much meat she won’t mouse. Say they
[2776]won’t eat pork. Kosher. Here. He let the bloodsmeared paper fall to
[2777]her and dropped the kidney amid the sizzling butter sauce. Pepper. He
[2778]sprinkled it through his fingers ringwise from the chipped eggcup.
[2779]
[2780]Then he slit open his letter, glancing down the page and over. Thanks:
[2781]new tam: Mr Coghlan: lough Owel picnic: young student: Blazes Boylan’s
[2782]seaside girls.
[2783]
[2784]The tea was drawn. He filled his own moustachecup, sham crown Derby,
[2785]smiling. Silly Milly’s birthday gift. Only five she was then. No,
[2786]wait: four. I gave her the amberoid necklace she broke. Putting pieces
[2787]of folded brown paper in the letterbox for her. He smiled, pouring.
[2788]
[2789] O, Milly Bloom, you are my darling.
[2790] You are my lookingglass from night to morning.
[2791] I’d rather have you without a farthing
[2792] Than Katey Keogh with her ass and garden.
[2793]Poor old professor Goodwin. Dreadful old case. Still he was a courteous
[2794]old chap. Oldfashioned way he used to bow Molly off the platform. And
[2795]the little mirror in his silk hat. The night Milly brought it into
[2796]the parlour. O, look what I found in professor Goodwin’s hat! All we
[2797]laughed. Sex breaking out even then. Pert little piece she was.
[2798]
[2799]He prodded a fork into the kidney and slapped it over: then fitted the
[2800]teapot on the tray. Its hump bumped as he took it up. Everything on
[2801]it? Bread and butter, four, sugar, spoon, her cream. Yes. He carried it
[2802]upstairs, his thumb hooked in the teapot handle.
[2803]
[2804]Nudging the door open with his knee he carried the tray in and set it on
[2805]the chair by the bedhead.
[2806]
[2807]—What a time you were! she said.
[2808]
[2809]She set the brasses jingling as she raised herself briskly, an elbow on
[2810]the pillow. He looked calmly down on her bulk and between her large soft
[2811]bubs, sloping within her nightdress like a shegoat’s udder. The warmth
[2812]of her couched body rose on the air, mingling with the fragrance of the
[2813]tea she poured.
[2814]
[2815]A strip of torn envelope peeped from under the dimpled pillow. In the
[2816]act of going he stayed to straighten the bedspread.
[2817]
[2818]—Who was the letter from? he asked.
[2819]
[2820]Bold hand. Marion.
[2821]
[2822]—O, Boylan, she said. He’s bringing the programme.
[2823]
[2824]—What are you singing?
[2825]
[2826]—Là ci darem with J. C. Doyle, she said, and Love’s Old Sweet Song.
[2827]
[2828]Her full lips, drinking, smiled. Rather stale smell that incense leaves
[2829]next day. Like foul flowerwater.
[2830]
[2831]—Would you like the window open a little?
[2832]
[2833]She doubled a slice of bread into her mouth, asking:
[2834]
[2835]—What time is the funeral?
[2836]
[2837]—Eleven, I think, he answered. I didn’t see the paper.
[2838]
[2839]Following the pointing of her finger he took up a leg of her soiled
[2840]drawers from the bed. No? Then, a twisted grey garter looped round a
[2841]stocking: rumpled, shiny sole.
[2842]
[2843]—No: that book.
[2844]
[2845]Other stocking. Her petticoat.
[2846]
[2847]—It must have fell down, she said.
[2848]
[2849]He felt here and there. Voglio e non vorrei. Wonder if she pronounces
[2850]that right: voglio. Not in the bed. Must have slid down. He stooped and
[2851]lifted the valance. The book, fallen, sprawled against the bulge of the
[2852]orangekeyed chamberpot.
[2853]
[2854]—Show here, she said. I put a mark in it. There’s a word I wanted to
[2855]ask you.
[2856]
[2857]She swallowed a draught of tea from her cup held by nothandle and,
[2858]having wiped her fingertips smartly on the blanket, began to search the
[2859]text with the hairpin till she reached the word.
[2860]
[2861]—Met him what? he asked.
[2862]
[2863]—Here, she said. What does that mean?
[2864]
[2865]He leaned downward and read near her polished thumbnail.
[2866]
[2867]—Metempsychosis?
[2868]
[2869]—Yes. Who’s he when he’s at home?
[2870]
[2871]—Metempsychosis, he said, frowning. It’s Greek: from the Greek. That
[2872]means the transmigration of souls.
[2873]
[2874]—O, rocks! she said. Tell us in plain words.
[2875]
[2876]He smiled, glancing askance at her mocking eyes. The same young eyes.
[2877]The first night after the charades. Dolphin’s Barn. He turned over the
[2878]smudged pages. Ruby: the Pride of the Ring. Hello. Illustration. Fierce
[2879]Italian with carriagewhip. Must be Ruby pride of the on the floor naked.
[2880]Sheet kindly lent. The monster Maffei desisted and flung his victim
[2881]from him with an oath. Cruelty behind it all. Doped animals. Trapeze at
[2882]Hengler’s. Had to look the other way. Mob gaping. Break your neck
[2883]and we’ll break our sides. Families of them. Bone them young so they
[2884]metamspychosis. That we live after death. Our souls. That a man’s soul
[2885]after he dies. Dignam’s soul...
[2886]
[2887]—Did you finish it? he asked.
[2888]
[2889]—Yes, she said. There’s nothing smutty in it. Is she in love with
[2890]the first fellow all the time?
[2891]
[2892]—Never read it. Do you want another?
[2893]
[2894]—Yes. Get another of Paul de Kock’s. Nice name he has.
[2895]
[2896]She poured more tea into her cup, watching it flow sideways.
[2897]
[2898]Must get that Capel street library book renewed or they’ll write to
[2899]Kearney, my guarantor. Reincarnation: that’s the word.
[2900]
[2901]—Some people believe, he said, that we go on living in another body
[2902]after death, that we lived before. They call it reincarnation. That
[2903]we all lived before on the earth thousands of years ago or some other
[2904]planet. They say we have forgotten it. Some say they remember their past
[2905]lives.
[2906]
[2907]The sluggish cream wound curdling spirals through her tea. Better remind
[2908]her of the word: metempsychosis. An example would be better. An example?
[2909]
[2910]The Bath of the Nymph over the bed. Given away with the Easter number of
[2911]Photo Bits: Splendid masterpiece in art colours. Tea before you put milk
[2912]in. Not unlike her with her hair down: slimmer. Three and six I gave
[2913]for the frame. She said it would look nice over the bed. Naked nymphs:
[2914]Greece: and for instance all the people that lived then.
[2915]
[2916]He turned the pages back.
[2917]
[2918]—Metempsychosis, he said, is what the ancient Greeks called it. They
[2919]used to believe you could be changed into an animal or a tree, for
[2920]instance. What they called nymphs, for example.
[2921]
[2922]Her spoon ceased to stir up the sugar. She gazed straight before her,
[2923]inhaling through her arched nostrils.
[2924]
[2925]—There’s a smell of burn, she said. Did you leave anything on the
[2926]fire?
[2927]
[2928]—The kidney! he cried suddenly.
[2929]
[2930]He fitted the book roughly into his inner pocket and, stubbing his toes
[2931]against the broken commode, hurried out towards the smell, stepping
[2932]hastily down the stairs with a flurried stork’s legs. Pungent smoke
[2933]shot up in an angry jet from a side of the pan. By prodding a prong of
[2934]the fork under the kidney he detached it and turned it turtle on its
[2935]back. Only a little burnt. He tossed it off the pan on to a plate and
[2936]let the scanty brown gravy trickle over it.
[2937]
[2938]Cup of tea now. He sat down, cut and buttered a slice of the loaf.
[2939]He shore away the burnt flesh and flung it to the cat. Then he put a
[2940]forkful into his mouth, chewing with discernment the toothsome pliant
[2941]meat. Done to a turn. A mouthful of tea. Then he cut away dies of bread,
[2942]sopped one in the gravy and put it in his mouth. What was that about
[2943]some young student and a picnic? He creased out the letter at his side,
[2944]reading it slowly as he chewed, sopping another die of bread in the
[2945]gravy and raising it to his mouth.
[2946]
[2947]Dearest Papli
[2948]
[2949]Thanks ever so much for the lovely birthday present. It suits me
[2950]splendid. Everyone says I am quite the belle in my new tam. I got
[2951]mummy’s lovely box of creams and am writing. They are lovely. I am
[2952]getting on swimming in the photo business now. Mr Coghlan took one of me
[2953]and Mrs. Will send when developed. We did great biz yesterday. Fair day
[2954]and all the beef to the heels were in. We are going to lough Owel on
[2955]Monday with a few friends to make a scrap picnic. Give my love to
[2956]mummy and to yourself a big kiss and thanks. I hear them at the piano
[2957]downstairs. There is to be a concert in the Greville Arms on Saturday.
[2958]There is a young student comes here some evenings named Bannon his
[2959]cousins or something are big swells and he sings Boylan’s (I was on
[2960]the pop of writing Blazes Boylan’s) song about those seaside girls.
[2961]Tell him silly Milly sends my best respects. I must now close with
[2962]fondest love
[2963]
[2964]Your fond daughter
[2965]
[2966]Milly
[2967]
[2968]P. S. Excuse bad writing am in hurry. Byby.
[2969]
[2970]M.
[2971]
[2972]Fifteen yesterday. Curious, fifteenth of the month too. Her first
[2973]birthday away from home. Separation. Remember the summer morning she
[2974]was born, running to knock up Mrs Thornton in Denzille street. Jolly old
[2975]woman. Lot of babies she must have helped into the world. She knew from
[2976]the first poor little Rudy wouldn’t live. Well, God is good, sir. She
[2977]knew at once. He would be eleven now if he had lived.
[2978]
[2979]His vacant face stared pityingly at the postscript. Excuse bad writing.
[2980]Hurry. Piano downstairs. Coming out of her shell. Row with her in the
[2981]XL Café about the bracelet. Wouldn’t eat her cakes or speak or look.
[2982]Saucebox. He sopped other dies of bread in the gravy and ate piece after
[2983]piece of kidney. Twelve and six a week. Not much. Still, she might do
[2984]worse. Music hall stage. Young student. He drank a draught of cooler tea
[2985]to wash down his meal. Then he read the letter again: twice.
[2986]
[2987]O, well: she knows how to mind herself. But if not? No, nothing has
[2988]happened. Of course it might. Wait in any case till it does. A wild
[2989]piece of goods. Her slim legs running up the staircase. Destiny.
[2990]Ripening now. Vain: very.
[2991]
[2992]He smiled with troubled affection at the kitchen window. Day I caught
[2993]her in the street pinching her cheeks to make them red. Anemic a little.
[2994]Was given milk too long. On the Erin’s King that day round the Kish.
[2995]Damned old tub pitching about. Not a bit funky. Her pale blue scarf
[2996]loose in the wind with her hair.
[2997]
[2998] All dimpled cheeks and curls,
[2999] Your head it simply swirls.
[3000]
[3001]Seaside girls. Torn envelope. Hands stuck in his trousers’ pockets,
[3002]jarvey off for the day, singing. Friend of the family. Swurls, he says.
[3003]Pier with lamps, summer evening, band.
[3004]
[3005] Those girls, those girls,
[3006] Those lovely seaside girls.
[3007]Milly too. Young kisses: the first. Far away now past. Mrs Marion.
[3008]Reading, lying back now, counting the strands of her hair, smiling,
[3009]braiding.
[3010]
[3011]A soft qualm, regret, flowed down his backbone, increasing. Will happen,
[3012]yes. Prevent. Useless: can’t move. Girl’s sweet light lips. Will
[3013]happen too. He felt the flowing qualm spread over him. Useless to move
[3014]now. Lips kissed, kissing, kissed. Full gluey woman’s lips.
[3015]
[3016]Better where she is down there: away. Occupy her. Wanted a dog to pass
[3017]the time. Might take a trip down there. August bank holiday, only two
[3018]and six return. Six weeks off, however. Might work a press pass. Or
[3019]through M’Coy.
[3020]
[3021]The cat, having cleaned all her fur, returned to the meatstained paper,
[3022]nosed at it and stalked to the door. She looked back at him, mewing.
[3023]Wants to go out. Wait before a door sometime it will open. Let her wait.
[3024]Has the fidgets. Electric. Thunder in the air. Was washing at her ear
[3025]with her back to the fire too.
[3026]
[3027]He felt heavy, full: then a gentle loosening of his bowels. He stood up,
[3028]undoing the waistband of his trousers. The cat mewed to him.
[3029]
[3030]—Miaow! he said in answer. Wait till I’m ready.
[3031]
[3032]Heaviness: hot day coming. Too much trouble to fag up the stairs to the
[3033]landing.
[3034]
[3035]A paper. He liked to read at stool. Hope no ape comes knocking just as
[3036]I’m.
[3037]
[3038]In the tabledrawer he found an old number of Titbits. He folded it under
[3039]his armpit, went to the door and opened it. The cat went up in soft
[3040]bounds. Ah, wanted to go upstairs, curl up in a ball on the bed.
[3041]
[3042]Listening, he heard her voice:
[3043]
[3044]—Come, come, pussy. Come.
[3045]
[3046]He went out through the backdoor into the garden: stood to listen
[3047]towards the next garden. No sound. Perhaps hanging clothes out to dry.
[3048]The maid was in the garden. Fine morning.
[3049]
[3050]He bent down to regard a lean file of spearmint growing by the wall.
[3051]Make a summerhouse here. Scarlet runners. Virginia creepers. Want to
[3052]manure the whole place over, scabby soil. A coat of liver of sulphur.
[3053]All soil like that without dung. Household slops. Loam, what is this
[3054]that is? The hens in the next garden: their droppings are very good top
[3055]dressing. Best of all though are the cattle, especially when they are
[3056]fed on those oilcakes. Mulch of dung. Best thing to clean ladies’ kid
[3057]gloves. Dirty cleans. Ashes too. Reclaim the whole place. Grow peas in
[3058]that corner there. Lettuce. Always have fresh greens then. Still gardens
[3059]have their drawbacks. That bee or bluebottle here Whitmonday.
[3060]
[3061]He walked on. Where is my hat, by the way? Must have put it back on
[3062]the peg. Or hanging up on the floor. Funny I don’t remember that.
[3063]Hallstand too full. Four umbrellas, her raincloak. Picking up the
[3064]letters. Drago’s shopbell ringing. Queer I was just thinking that
[3065]moment. Brown brillantined hair over his collar. Just had a wash and
[3066]brushup. Wonder have I time for a bath this morning. Tara street. Chap
[3067]in the paybox there got away James Stephens, they say. O’Brien.
[3068]
[3069]Deep voice that fellow Dlugacz has. Agendath what is it? Now, my miss.
[3070]Enthusiast.
[3071]
[3072]He kicked open the crazy door of the jakes. Better be careful not to get
[3073]these trousers dirty for the funeral. He went in, bowing his head
[3074]under the low lintel. Leaving the door ajar, amid the stench of mouldy
[3075]limewash and stale cobwebs he undid his braces. Before sitting down he
[3076]peered through a chink up at the nextdoor windows. The king was in his
[3077]countinghouse. Nobody.
[3078]
[3079]Asquat on the cuckstool he folded out his paper, turning its pages over
[3080]on his bared knees. Something new and easy. No great hurry. Keep it a
[3081]bit. Our prize titbit: Matcham’s Masterstroke. Written by Mr Philip
[3082]Beaufoy, Playgoers’ Club, London. Payment at the rate of one guinea
[3083]a column has been made to the writer. Three and a half. Three pounds
[3084]three. Three pounds, thirteen and six.
[3085]
[3086]Quietly he read, restraining himself, the first column and, yielding but
[3087]resisting, began the second. Midway, his last resistance yielding, he
[3088]allowed his bowels to ease themselves quietly as he read, reading still
[3089]patiently that slight constipation of yesterday quite gone. Hope it’s
[3090]not too big bring on piles again. No, just right. So. Ah! Costive. One
[3091]tabloid of cascara sagrada. Life might be so. It did not move or touch
[3092]him but it was something quick and neat. Print anything now. Silly
[3093]season. He read on, seated calm above his own rising smell. Neat
[3094]certainly. Matcham often thinks of the masterstroke by which he won the
[3095]laughing witch who now. Begins and ends morally. Hand in hand. Smart. He
[3096]glanced back through what he had read and, while feeling his water flow
[3097]quietly, he envied kindly Mr Beaufoy who had written it and received
[3098]payment of three pounds, thirteen and six.
[3099]
[3100]Might manage a sketch. By Mr and Mrs L. M. Bloom. Invent a story for
[3101]some proverb. Which? Time I used to try jotting down on my cuff what she
[3102]said dressing. Dislike dressing together. Nicked myself shaving. Biting
[3103]her nether lip, hooking the placket of her skirt. Timing her. 9.15.
[3104]Did Roberts pay you yet? 9.20. What had Gretta Conroy on? 9.23. What
[3105]possessed me to buy this comb? 9.24. I’m swelled after that cabbage. A
[3106]speck of dust on the patent leather of her boot.
[3107]
[3108]Rubbing smartly in turn each welt against her stockinged calf. Morning
[3109]after the bazaar dance when May’s band played Ponchielli’s dance of
[3110]the hours. Explain that: morning hours, noon, then evening coming on,
[3111]then night hours. Washing her teeth. That was the first night. Her head
[3112]dancing. Her fansticks clicking. Is that Boylan well off? He has money.
[3113]Why? I noticed he had a good rich smell off his breath dancing. No use
[3114]humming then. Allude to it. Strange kind of music that last night. The
[3115]mirror was in shadow. She rubbed her handglass briskly on her woollen
[3116]vest against her full wagging bub. Peering into it. Lines in her eyes.
[3117]It wouldn’t pan out somehow.
[3118]
[3119]Evening hours, girls in grey gauze. Night hours then: black with daggers
[3120]and eyemasks. Poetical idea: pink, then golden, then grey, then black.
[3121]Still, true to life also. Day: then the night.
[3122]
[3123]He tore away half the prize story sharply and wiped himself with it.
[3124]Then he girded up his trousers, braced and buttoned himself. He pulled
[3125]back the jerky shaky door of the jakes and came forth from the gloom
[3126]into the air.
[3127]
[3128]In the bright light, lightened and cooled in limb, he eyed carefully his
[3129]black trousers: the ends, the knees, the houghs of the knees. What time
[3130]is the funeral? Better find out in the paper.
[3131]
[3132]A creak and a dark whirr in the air high up. The bells of George’s
[3133]church. They tolled the hour: loud dark iron.
[3134]
[3135] Heigho! Heigho!
[3136] Heigho! Heigho!
[3137] Heigho! Heigho!
[3138]Quarter to. There again: the overtone following through the air. A
[3139]third.
[3140]
[3141]Poor Dignam!
[3142]
[3143]
[3144]
[3145]
[3146]
[3147]