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Ulysses 

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 1305 

THE NYMPH: (With a cry flees from him unveiled, her 

plaster cast cracking, a cloud of stench escaping from the cracks) 

Poli ...! 

BLOOM: (Calls after her) As if you didn’t get it on the 

double yourselves. No jerks and multiple mucosities all 

over you. I tried it. Your strength our weakness. What’s 

our studfee? What will you pay on the nail? You fee 

mendancers on the Riviera, I read. (The fleeing nymph raises 

a keen) Eh? I have sixteen years of black slave labour 

behind me. And would a jury give me five shillings 

alimony tomorrow, eh? Fool someone else, not me. (He 

sniffs) Rut. Onions. Stale. Sulphur. Grease. 

(The figure of Bella Cohen stands before him.) 

BELLA: You’ll know me the next time. 

BLOOM: (Composed, regards her) Passée. Mutton dressed 

as lamb. Long in the tooth and superfluous hair. A raw 

onion the last thing at night would benefit your 

complexion. And take some double chin drill. Your eyes 

are as vapid as the glasseyes of your stuffed fox. They have 

the dimensions of your other features, that’s all. I’m not a 

triple screw propeller. 

BELLA:  (Contemptuously) You’re not game, in fact. 

(Her sowcunt barks) Fbhracht! 

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BLOOM:  (Contemptuously) Clean your nailless middle 

finger first, your bully’s cold spunk is dripping from your 

cockscomb. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself. 

BELLA: I know you, canvasser! Dead cod! 

BLOOM: I saw him, kipkeeper! Pox and gleet vendor! 

BELLA: (Turns to the piano) Which of you was playing 

the dead march from Saul? 

ZOE: Me. Mind your cornflowers. (She darts to the 

piano and bangs chords on it with crossed arms) The cat’s 

ramble through the slag. (She glances back) Eh? Who’s 

making love to my sweeties? (She darts back to the table) 

What’s yours is mine and what’s mine is my own. 

(Kitty, disconcerted, coats her teeth with the silver paper. 

Bloom approaches Zoe.) 

BLOOM: (Gently) Give me back that potato, will you? 

ZOE: Forfeits, a fine thing and a superfine thing. 

BLOOM: (With feeling) It is nothing, but still, a relic of 

poor mamma. 

ZOE: 

Give a thing and take it back 

God’ll ask you where is that 

You’ll say you don’t know 

God’ll send you down below.  

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BLOOM: There is a memory attached to it. I should 

like to have it. 

STEPHEN: To have or not to have that is the 

question. 

ZOE: Here. (She hauls up a reef of her slip, revealing her 

bare thigh, and unrolls the potato from the top of her stocking) 

Those that hides knows where to find. 

BELLA: (Frowns) Here. This isn’t a musical peepshow. 

And don’t you smash that piano. Who’s paying here? 

(She goes to the pianola. Stephen fumbles in his pocket and, 

taking out a banknote by its corner, hands it to her.) 

STEPHEN:  (With exaggerated politeness) This silken 

purse I made out of the sow’s ear of the public. Madam, 

excuse me. If you allow me. (He indicates vaguely Lynch and 

Bloom) We are all in the same sweepstake, Kinch and 

Lynch. Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre état. 

LYNCH: (Calls from the hearth) Dedalus! Give her your 

blessing for me. 

STEPHEN: (Hands Bella a coin) Gold. She has it. 

BELLA: (Looks at the money, then at Stephen, then at Zoe, 

Florry and Kitty) Do you want three girls? It’s ten shillings 

here. 

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STEPHEN: 

(Delightedly) A hundred thousand 

apologies. (He fumbles again and takes out and hands her two 

crowns) Permit, brevi manu, my sight is somewhat troubled. 

(Bella goes to the table to count the money while Stephen 

talks to himself in monosyllables. Zoe bends over the table. Kitty 

leans over Zoe’s neck. Lynch gets up, rights his cap and, clasping 

Kitty’s waist, adds his head to the group.) 

FLORRY: (Strives heavily to rise) Ow! My foot’s asleep. 

(She limps over to the table. Bloom approaches.) 

BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: 

(Chattering and squabbling) The gentleman ... ten shillings ... 

paying for the three ... allow me a moment ... this 

gentleman pays separate ... who’s touching it? ... ow! ... 

mind who you’re pinching ... are you staying the night or 

a short time?... who did?... you’re a liar, excuse me ... the 

gentleman paid down like a gentleman ... drink ... it’s long 

after eleven. 

STEPHEN: (At the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence) 

No bottles! What, eleven? A riddle! 

ZOE: (Lifting up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign 

into the top of her stocking) Hard earned on the flat of my 

back. 

LYNCH: (Lifting Kitty from the table) Come! 

KITTY: Wait. (She clutches the two crowns) 

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