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cart. Buy a bucket or sell your pump. (Loudly) Can you do a man’s job? BLOOM: Eccles street ... BELLO: (Sarcastically) I wouldn’t hurt your feelings for the world but there’s a man of brawn in possession there. The tables are turned, my gay young fellow! He is something like a fullgrown outdoor man. Well for you, you muff, if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over it. He shot his bolt, I can tell you! Foot to foot, knee to knee, belly to belly, bubs to breast! He’s no eunuch. A shock of red hair he has sticking out of him behind like a furzebush! Wait for nine months, my lad! Holy ginger, it’s kicking and coughing up and down in her guts already! That makes you wild, don’t it? Touches the spot? (He spits in contempt) Spittoon! BLOOM: I was indecently treated, I ... Inform the police. Hundred pounds. Unmentionable. I ... BELLO: Would if you could, lame duck. A downpour we want not your drizzle. BLOOM: To drive me mad! Moll! I forgot! Forgive! Moll ... We ... Still ... BELLO: (Ruthlessly) No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed by woman’s will since you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of twenty years. Return and see. Ulysses 918
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(Old Sleepy Hollow calls over the wold.) SLEEPY HOLLOW: Rip van Wink! Rip van Winkle! BLOOM: (In tattered mocassins with a rusty fowlingpiece,
first night at Mat Dillon’s! But that dress, the green! And her hair is dyed gold and he ... BELLO: (Laughs mockingly) That’s your daughter, you owl, with a Mullingar student.
MILLY: My! It’s Papli! But, O Papli, how old you’ve grown! BELLO: Changed, eh? Our whatnot, our writingtable where we never wrote, aunt Hegarty’s armchair, our classic reprints of old masters. A man and his menfriends are living there in clover. The Cuckoos’ Rest! Why not? How many women had you, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot, exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you male prostitute? Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. Turn about. Sauce for the goose, my gander O. BLOOM: They ... I ... Ulysses 919
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BELLO: (Cuttingly) Their heelmarks will stamp the Brusselette carpet you bought at Wren’s auction. In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find the buck flea in her breeches they will deface the little statue you carried home in the rain for art for art’ sake. They will violate the secrets of your bottom drawer. Pages will be torn from your handbook of astronomy to make them pipespills. And they will spit in your ten shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom’s. BLOOM: Ten and six. The act of low scoundrels. Let me go. I will return. I will prove ... A VOICE: Swear! (Bloom clenches his fists and crawls forward, a bowieknife between his teeth.) BELLO: As a paying guest or a kept man? Too late. You have made your secondbest bed and others must lie in it. Your epitaph is written. You are down and out and don’t you forget it, old bean. BLOOM: Justice! All Ireland versus one! Has nobody ...? (He bites his thumb) BELLO: Die and be damned to you if you have any sense of decency or grace about you. I can give you a rare old wine that’ll send you skipping to hell and back. Sign a will and leave us any coin you have! If you have none see
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you damn well get it, steal it, rob it! We’ll bury you in our shrubbery jakes where you’ll be dead and dirty with old Cuck Cohen, my stepnephew I married, the bloody old gouty procurator and sodomite with a crick in his neck, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever the buggers’ names were, suffocated in the one cesspool. (He explodes in a loud phlegmy laugh) We’ll manure you, Mr Flower! (He pipes scoffingly) Byby, Poldy! Byby, Papli! BLOOM: (Clasps his head) My willpower! Memory! I have sinned! I have suff ... (He weeps tearlessly) BELLO: (Sneers) Crybabby! Crocodile tears! (Bloom, broken, closely veiled for the sacrifice, sobs, his face to the earth. The passing bell is heard. Darkshawled figures of the circumcised, in sackcloth and ashes, stand by the wailing wall. M. Shulomowitz, Joseph Goldwater, Moses Herzog, Harris Rosenberg, M. Moisel, J. Citron, Minnie Watchman, P. Mastiansky, The Reverend Leopold Abramovitz, Chazen. With swaying arms they wail in pneuma over the recreant Bloom.) THE CIRCUMCISED: (In dark guttural chant as they cast dead sea fruit upon him, no flowers) Shema Israel Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad. Yüklə 3,16 Mb. Dostları ilə paylaş:
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