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Ulysses 

909 


of

 1305 


a trot and the gentleman goes a gallop a gallop a gallop a 

gallop. 


FLORRY:  (Pulls at Bello) Let me on him now. You 

had enough. I asked before you. 

ZOE:  (Pulling at florry) Me. Me. Are you not finished 

with him yet, suckeress? 

BLOOM: (Stifling) Can’t. 

BELLO: Well, I’m not. Wait. (He holds in his breath) 

Curse it. Here. This bung’s about burst. (He uncorks himself 

behind: then, contorting his features, farts loudly) Take that! 

(He recorks himself) Yes, by Jingo, sixteen three quarters. 

BLOOM: (A sweat breaking out over him) Not man. (He 



sniffs) Woman. 

BELLO: (Stands up) No more blow hot and cold. What 

you longed for has come to pass. Henceforth you are 

unmanned and mine in earnest, a thing under the yoke. 

Now for your punishment frock. You will shed your male 

garments, you understand, Ruby Cohen? and don the shot 

silk luxuriously rustling over head and shoulders. And 

quickly too! 

BLOOM:  (Shrinks) Silk, mistress said! O crinkly! 

scrapy! Must I tiptouch it with my nails? 

BELLO:  (Points to his whores) As they are now so will 

you be, wigged, singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, 




Ulysses 

910 


of

 1305 


with smoothshaven armpits. Tape measurements will be 

taken next your skin. You will be laced with cruel force 

into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone 

busk to the diamondtrimmed pelvis, the absolute outside 

edge, while your figure, plumper than when at large, will 

be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty two ounce 

petticoats and fringes and things stamped, of course, with 

my houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice and 

nice scent for Alice. Alice will feel the pullpull. Martha 

and Mary will be a little chilly at first in such delicate 

thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of lace round your bare 

knees will remind you ... 

BLOOM: (A charming soubrette with dauby cheeks, mustard 

hair and large male hands and nose, leering mouth) I tried her 

things on only twice, a small prank, in Holles street. When 

we were hard up I washed them to save the laundry bill. 

My own shirts I turned. It was the purest thrift. 

BELLO:  (Jeers) Little jobs that make mother pleased, 

eh? And showed off coquettishly in your domino at the 

mirror behind closedrawn blinds your unskirted thighs and 

hegoat’s udders in various poses of surrender, eh? Ho! ho! 

I have to laugh! That secondhand black operatop shift and 

short trunkleg naughties all split up the stitches at her last 




Ulysses 

911 


of

 1305 


rape that Mrs Miriam Dandrade sold you from the 

Shelbourne hotel, eh? 

BLOOM: Miriam. Black. Demimondaine. 

BELLO:  (Guffaws) Christ Almighty it’s too tickling, 

this! You were a nicelooking Miriam when you clipped 

off your backgate hairs and lay swooning in the thing 

across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated by 

lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell 

M. P., signor Laci Daremo, the robust tenor, blueeyed 

Bert, the liftboy, Henri Fleury of Gordon Bennett fame

Sheridan, the quadroon Croesus, the varsity wetbob eight 

from old Trinity, Ponto, her splendid Newfoundland and 

Bobs, dowager duchess of Manorhamilton. (He guffaws 

again) Christ, wouldn’t it make a Siamese cat laugh? 

BLOOM: (Her hands and features working) It was Gerald 

converted me to be a true corsetlover when I was female 

impersonator in the High School play Vice Versa. It was 

dear Gerald. He got that kink, fascinated by sister’s stays. 

Now dearest Gerald uses pinky greasepaint and gilds his 

eyelids. Cult of the beautiful. 

BELLO:  (With wicked glee) Beautiful! Give us a 

breather! When you took your seat with womanish care, 

lifting your billowy flounces, on the smoothworn throne. 




Ulysses 

912 


of

 1305 


BLOOM: Science. To compare the various joys we 

each enjoy. (Earnestly) And really it’s better the position ... 

because often I used to wet ... 

BELLO:  (Sternly) No insubordination! The sawdust is 

there in the corner for you. I gave you strict instructions, 

didn’t I? Do it standing, sir! I’ll teach you to behave like a 

jinkleman! If I catch a trace on your swaddles. Aha! By the 

ass of the Dorans you’ll find I’m a martinet. The sins of 

your past are rising against you. Many. Hundreds. 

THE SINS OF THE PAST: (In a medley of voices) He 

went through a form of clandestine marriage with at least 

one woman in the shadow of the Black church. 

Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss 

Dunn at an address in D’Olier street while he presented 

himself indecently to the instrument in the callbox. By 

word and deed he frankly encouraged a nocturnal 

strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary 

outhouse attached to empty premises. In five public 

conveniences he wrote pencilled messages offering his 

nuptial partner to all strongmembered males. And by the 

offensively smelling vitriol works did he not pass night 

after night by loving courting couples to see if and what 

and how much he could see? Did he not lie in bed, the 

gross boar, gloating over a nauseous fragment of wellused 




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