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Ulysses 

31 


of

 1305 


Buck Mulligan slung his towel stolewise round his neck 

and, bending in loose laughter, said to Stephen’s ear: 

—O, shade of Kinch the elder! Japhet in search of a 

father! 


—We’re always tired in the morning, Stephen said to 

Haines. And it is rather long to tell. 

Buck Mulligan, walking forward again, raised his hands. 

—The sacred pint alone can unbind the tongue of 

Dedalus, he said. 

—I mean to say, Haines explained to Stephen as they 

followed, this tower and these cliffs here remind me 

somehow of Elsinore. That beetles o’er his base into the sea, 

isn’t it? 

Buck Mulligan turned suddenly. for an instant towards 

Stephen but did not speak. In the bright silent instant 

Stephen saw his own image in cheap dusty mourning 

between their gay attires. 

—It’s a wonderful tale, Haines said, bringing them to 

halt again. 

Eyes, pale as the sea the wind had freshened, paler, firm 

and prudent. The seas’ ruler, he gazed southward over the 

bay, empty save for the smokeplume of the mailboat vague 

on the bright skyline and a sail tacking by the Muglins. 



Ulysses 

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 1305 


—I read a theological interpretation of it somewhere, 

he said bemused. The Father and the Son idea. The Son 

striving to be atoned with the Father. 

Buck Mulligan at once put on a blithe broadly smiling 

face. He looked at them, his wellshaped mouth open 

happily, his eyes, from which he had suddenly withdrawn 

all shrewd sense, blinking with mad gaiety. He moved a 

doll’s head to and fro, the brims of his Panama hat 

quivering, and began to chant in a quiet happy foolish 

voice: 


—I’m the queerest young fellow that ever you 

heard. 

 My mother’s a jew, my father’s a bird. 

 With Joseph the joiner I cannot agree. 

 So here’s to disciples and Calvary. 

He held up a forefinger of warning. 



—If anyone thinks that I amn’t divine 

 He’ll get no free drinks when I’m making the 

wine 

 But have to drink water and wish it were plain 

 That i make when the wine becomes water 

again. 


Ulysses 

33 


of

 1305 


He tugged swiftly at Stephen’s ashplant in farewell and, 

running forward to a brow of the cliff, fluttered his hands 

at his sides like fins or wings of one about to rise in the air

and chanted: 



—Goodbye, now, goodbye! Write down all I 

said 

 And tell Tom, Dick and Harry I rose from the 

dead. 

 What’s bred in the bone cannot fail me to fly 

 And Olivet’s breezy ... Goodbye, now, 

goodbye! 

He capered before them down towards the fortyfoot 

hole, fluttering his winglike hands, leaping nimbly, 

Mercury’s hat quivering in the fresh wind that bore back 

to them his brief birdsweet cries. 

Haines, who had been laughing guardedly, walked on 

beside Stephen and said: 

—We oughtn’t to laugh, I suppose. He’s rather 

blasphemous. I’m not a believer myself, that is to say. Still 

his gaiety takes the harm out of it somehow, doesn’t it? 

What did he call it? Joseph the Joiner? 

—The ballad of joking Jesus, Stephen answered. 

—O, Haines said, you have heard it before? 



Ulysses 

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of

 1305 


—Three times a day, after meals, Stephen said drily. 

—You’re not a believer, are you? Haines asked. I 

mean, a believer in the narrow sense of the word. 

Creation from nothing and miracles and a personal God. 

—There’s only one sense of the word, it seems to me, 

Stephen said. 

Haines stopped to take out a smooth silver case in 

which twinkled a green stone. He sprang it open with his 

thumb and offered it. 

—Thank you, Stephen said, taking a cigarette. 

Haines helped himself and snapped the case to. He put 

it back in his sidepocket and took from his 

waistcoatpocket a nickel tinderbox, sprang it open too, 

and, having lit his cigarette, held the flaming spunk 

towards Stephen in the shell of his hands. 

—Yes, of course, he said, as they went on again. Either 

you believe or you don’t, isn’t it? Personally I couldn’t 

stomach that idea of a personal God. You don’t stand for 

that, I suppose? 

—You behold in me, Stephen said with grim 

displeasure, a horrible example of free thought. 

He walked on, waiting to be spoken to, trailing his 

ashplant by his side. Its ferrule followed lightly on the 

path, squealing at his heels. My familiar, after me, calling, 




Ulysses 

35 


of

 1305 


Steeeeeeeeeeeephen! A wavering line along the path. 

They will walk on it tonight, coming here in the dark. He 

wants that key. It is mine. I paid the rent. Now I eat his 

salt bread. Give him the key too. All. He will ask for it. 

That was in his eyes. 

—After all, Haines began ... 

Stephen turned and saw that the cold gaze which had 

measured him was not all unkind. 

—After all, I should think you are able to free yourself. 

You are your own master, it seems to me. 

—I am a servant of two masters, Stephen said, an 

English and an Italian. 

—Italian? Haines said. 

A crazy queen, old and jealous. Kneel down before me. 

—And a third, Stephen said, there is who wants me for 

odd jobs. 

—Italian? Haines said again. What do you mean? 

—The imperial British state, Stephen answered, his 

colour rising, and the holy Roman catholic and apostolic 

church. 


Haines detached from his underlip some fibres of 

tobacco before he spoke. 

—I can quite understand that, he said calmly. An 

Irishman must think like that, I daresay. We feel in 




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