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Ulysses 

926 


of

 1305 


Poulaphouca Poulaphouca 

Phoucaphouca Phoucaphouca. 

THE NYMPH: (With wide fingers) O, infamy! 

BLOOM: I was precocious. Youth. The fauna. I 

sacrificed to the god of the forest. The flowers that bloom 

in the spring. It was pairing time. Capillary attraction is a 

natural phenomenon. Lotty Clarke, flaxenhaired, I saw at 

her night toilette through illclosed curtains with poor 

papa’s operaglasses: The wanton ate grass wildly. She 

rolled downhill at Rialto bridge to tempt me with her 

flow of animal spirits. She climbed their crooked tree and I 

... A saint couldn’t resist it. The demon possessed me. 

Besides, who saw? 

(Staggering Bob, a whitepolled calf, thrusts a ruminating head 

with humid nostrils through the foliage.) 

STAGGERING BOB: (LARGE TEARDROPS 

ROLLING FROM HIS PROMINENT EYES, 

SNIVELS) Me. Me see. 

BLOOM: Simply satisfying a need I ... (With pathos) 

No girl would when I went girling. Too ugly. They 

wouldn’t play ... 

(High on Ben Howth through rhododendrons a nannygoat 

passes, plumpuddered, buttytailed, dropping currants.) 



Ulysses 

927 


of

 1305 


THE NANNYGOAT: (Bleats) Megeggaggegg! 

Nannannanny! 

BLOOM:  (Hatless, flushed, covered with burrs of 

thistledown and gorsespine) Regularly engaged. 

Circumstances alter cases. (He gazes intently downwards on 



the water) Thirtytwo head over heels per second. Press 

nightmare. Giddy Elijah. Fall from cliff. Sad end of 

government printer’s clerk. (Through silversilent summer air 

the dummy of Bloom, rolled in a mummy, rolls roteatingly from 

the Lion’s Head cliff into the purple waiting waters.) 

THE DUMMYMUMMY: Bbbbblllllblblblblobschbg! 



(Far out in the bay between bailey and kish lights the Erin’s 

King  sails, sending a broadening plume of coalsmoke from her 



funnel towards the land.) 

COUNCILLOR NANNETII: (Alone on deck, in dark 



alpaca, yellowkitefaced, his hand in his waistcoat opening, 

declaims) When my country takes her place among the 

nations of the earth, then, and not till then, let my epitaph 

be written. I have ... 

BLOOM: Done. Prff! 

THE NYMPH: (Loftily) We immortals, as you saw 

today, have not such a place and no hair there either. We 

are stonecold and pure. We eat electric light. (She arches her 

body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in her mouth) 



Ulysses 

928 


of

 1305 


Spoke to me. Heard from behind. How then could you 

...? 


BLOOM: (Pawing the heather abjectly) O, I have been a 

perfect pig. Enemas too I have administered. One third of 

a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. 

Up the fundament. With Hamilton Long’s syringe, the 

ladies’ friend. 

THE NYMPH: In my presence. The powderpuff. (She 



blushes and makes a knee) And the rest! 

BLOOM:  (Dejected) Yes. Peccavi! I have paid homage 

on that living altar where the back changes name. (With 

sudden fervour) For why should the dainty scented jewelled 

hand, the hand that rules ...? 



(Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the 

treestems, cooeeing) 

THE VOICE OF KITTY: (In the thicket) Show us one 

of them cushions. 

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: Here. 



(A grouse wings clumsily through the underwood.) 

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (In the thicket) Whew! 

Piping hot! 

THE VOICE OF ZOE: (From the thicket) Came from a 

hot place. 



Ulysses 

929 


of

 1305 


THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (A birdchief, bluestreaked and 

feathered in war panoply with his assegai, striding through a 

crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns) Hot! Hot! Ware 

Sitting Bull! 

BLOOM: It overpowers me. The warm impress of her 

warm form. Even to sit where a woman has sat, especially 

with divaricated thighs, as though to grant the last favours, 

most especially with previously well uplifted white sateen 

coatpans. So womanly, full. It fills me full. 

THE WATERFALL: 



Phillaphulla Poulaphouca 

Poulaphouca Poulaphouca. 

THE YEWS: Ssh! Sister, speak! 

THE NYMPH: (Eyeless, in nun’s white habit, coif and 

hugewinged wimple, softly, with remote eyes) Tranquilla 

convent. Sister Agatha. Mount Carmel. The apparitions of 

Knock and Lourdes. No more desire. (She reclines her head, 

sighing) Only the ethereal. Where dreamy creamy gull 

waves o’er the waters dull. 



(Bloom half rises. His back trouserbutton snaps.) 

THE BUTTON: Bip! 



(Two sluts of the coombe dance rainily by, shawled, yelling 

flatly.) 

THE SLUTS: 




Ulysses 

930 


of

 1305 


O, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers 

He didn’t know what to do, 

To keep it up, 

To keep it up. 

BLOOM: (Coldly) You have broken the spell. The last 

straw. If there were only ethereal where would you all be, 

postulants and novices? Shy but willing like an ass pissing. 

THE YEWS: (Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their 



skinny arms aging and swaying) Deciduously! 

THE NYMPH: (Her features hardening, gropes in the folds 



of her habit) Sacrilege! To attempt my virtue! (A large moist 

stain appears on her robe) Sully my innocence! You are not 

fit to touch the garment of a pure woman. (She clutches 



again in her robe) Wait. Satan, you’ll sing no more 

lovesongs. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. (She draws a 



poniard and, clad in the sheathmail of an elected knight of nine, 

strikes at his loins) Nekum! 

BLOOM:  (Starts up, seizes her hand) Hoy! Nebrakada! 

Cat o’ nine lives! Fair play, madam. No pruningknife. The 

fox and the grapes, is it? What do you lack with your 

barbed wire? Crucifix not thick enough? (He clutches her 

veil) A holy abbot you want or Brophy, the lame gardener, 

or the spoutless statue of the watercarrier, or good mother 

Alphonsus, eh Reynard? 



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