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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: (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 ...
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THE NANNYGOAT: (Bleats) Megeggaggegg! Nannannanny! BLOOM: (Hatless, flushed, covered with burrs of
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 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
Ulysses 928
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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
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
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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
convent. Sister Agatha. Mount Carmel. The apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. No more desire. (She reclines her head,
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
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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
or the spoutless statue of the watercarrier, or good mother Alphonsus, eh Reynard?
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