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Ulysses 

893 

of

 1305 

VIRAG: Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Fall of 

man.  (Harshly, his pupils waxing) To hell with the pope! 

Nothing new under the sun. I am the Virag who disclosed 

the Sex Secrets of Monks and Maidens. Why I left the 

church of Rome. Read the Priest, the Woman and the 

Confessional. Penrose. Flipperty Jippert. (He wriggles) 

Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, 

offers her allmoist yoni to man’s lingam. Short time after 

man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat. Woman 

shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. Man loves 

her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the stiff one. (He cries) 

Coactus volui. Then giddy woman will run about. Strong 

man grapses woman’s wrist. Woman squeals, bites, spucks. 

Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman’s fat yadgana. (He 

chases his tail) Piffpaff! Popo! (He stops, sneezes) Pchp! (He 

worries his butt) Prrrrrht! 

LYNCH: I hope you gave the good father a penance. 

Nine glorias for shooting a bishop. 

ZOE:  (Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils) He 

couldn’t get a connection. Only, you know, sensation. A 

dry rush. 

BLOOM: Poor man! 

ZOE: (Lightly) Only for what happened him. 

BLOOM: How? 

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Ulysses 

894 

of

 1305 

VIRAG: (A diabolic rictus of black luminosity contracting his 

visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward. He lifts a mooncalf nozzle 

and howls.) Verfluchte Goim! He had a father, forty fathers. 

He never existed. Pig God! He had two left feet. He was 

Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, the pope’s bastard. (He 

leans out on tortured forepaws, elbows bent rigid, his eye 

agonising in his flat skullneck and yelps over the mute world) A 

son of a whore. Apocalypse. 

KITTY: And Mary Shortall that was in the lock with 

the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the blue caps had 

a child off him that couldn’t swallow and was smothered 

with the convulsions in the mattress and we all subscribed 

for the funeral. 

PHILIP DRUNK: (Gravely) Qui vous a mis dans cette 

fichue position, Philippe? 

PHILIP SOBER: (Gaily) c’était le sacré pigeon, Philippe. 

(Kitty unpins her hat and sets it down calmly, patting her 

henna hair. And a prettier, a daintier head of winsome curls was 

never seen on a whore’s shoulders. Lynch puts on her hat. She 

whips it off.) 

LYNCH:  (Laughs) And to such delights has 

Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes. 

FLORRY: (Nods) Locomotor ataxy. 

ZOE: (Gaily) O, my dictionary. 

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Ulysses 

895 

of

 1305 

LYNCH: Three wise virgins. 

VIRAG:  (Agueshaken, profuse yellow spawn foaming over 

his bony epileptic lips) She sold lovephiltres, whitewax, 

orangeflower. Panther, the Roman centurion, polluted her 

with his genitories. (He sticks out a flickering phosphorescent 

scorpion tongue, his hand on his fork) Messiah! He burst her 

tympanum.  (With gibbering baboon’s cries he jerks his hips in 

the cynical spasm) Hik! Hek! Hak! Hok! Huk! Kok! Kuk! 

(Ben Jumbo Dollard, Rubicund, musclebound, hairynostrilled, 

hugebearded, cabbageeared, shaggychested, shockmaned, fat- 

papped, stands forth, his loins and genitals tightened into a pair 

of black bathing bagslops.) 

BEN DOLLARD: (Nakkering castanet bones in his huge 

padded paws, yodels jovially in base barreltone) When love 

absorbs my ardent soul. 

(The virgins Nurse Callan and Nurse Quigley burst through 

the ringkeepers and the ropes and mob him with open arms.) 

THE VIRGINS: (Gushingly) Big Ben! Ben my Chree! 

A VOICE: Hold that fellow with the bad breeches. 

BEN DOLLARD: (Smites his thigh in abundant laughter) 

Hold him now. 

HENRY:  (Caressing on his breast a severed female head, 

murmurs) Thine heart, mine love. (He plucks his lutestrings) 

When first I saw ... 

---

Ulysses 

896 

of

 1305 

VIRAG:  (Sloughing his skins, his multitudinous plumage 

moulting) Rats! (He yawns, showing a coalblack throat, and 

closes his jaws by an upward push of his parchmentroll) After 

having said which I took my departure. Farewell. Fare 

thee well. Dreck! 

(Henry Flower combs his moustache and beard rapidly with a 

pocketcomb and gives a cow’s lick to his hair. Steered by his 

rapier, he glides to the door, his wild harp slung behind him. 

Virag reaches the door in two ungainly stilthops, his tail cocked, 

and deftly claps sideways on the wall a pusyellow flybill, butting 

it with his head.) 

THE FLYBILL: K. II. Post No Bills. Strictly 

confidential. Dr Hy Franks. 

HENRY: All is lost now. 

(Virag unscrews his head in a trice and holds it under his 

arm.) 

VIRAG’S HEAD: Quack! 

(Exeunt severally.) 

STEPHEN:  (Over his shoulder to zoe) You would have 

preferred the fighting parson who founded the protestant 

error. But beware Antisthenes, the dog sage, and the last 

end of Arius Heresiarchus. The agony in the closet. 

LYNCH: All one and the same God to her. 

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