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THE END OF THE WORLD: (with a Scotch accent)
Wha’ll dance the keel row, the keel row, the keel row?
(Over the possing drift and choking breathcoughs, Elijah’s
voice, harsh as a corncrake’s, jars on high. Perspiring in a loose
lawn surplice with funnel sleeves he is seen, vergerfaced, above a
rostrum about which the banner of old glory is draped. He thumps
the parapet.)
ELIJAH: No yapping, if you please, in this booth. Jake
Crane, Creole Sue, Dove Campbell, Abe Kirschner, do
your coughing with your mouths shut. Say, I am
operating all this trunk line. Boys, do it now. God’s time is
12.25. Tell mother you’ll be there. Rush your order and
you play a slick ace. Join on right here. Book through to
eternity junction, the nonstop run. Just one word more.
Are you a god or a doggone clod? If the second advent
came to Coney Island are we ready? Florry Christ,
Stephen Christ, Zoe Christ, Bloom Christ, Kitty Christ,
Lynch Christ, it’s up to you to sense that cosmic force.
Have we cold feet about the cosmos? No. Be on the side
of the angels. Be a prism. You have that something
within, the higher self. You can rub shoulders with a Jesus,
a Gautama, an Ingersoll. Are you all in this vibration? I say
you are. You once nobble that, congregation, and a buck
joyride to heaven becomes a back number. You got me?
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It’s a lifebrightener, sure. The hottest stuff ever was. It’s
the whole pie with jam in. It’s just the cutest snappiest line
out. It is immense, supersumptuous. It restores. It vibrates.
I know and I am some vibrator. Joking apart and, getting
down to bedrock, A. J. Christ Dowie and the harmonial
philosophy, have you got that? O. K. Seventyseven west
sixtyninth street. Got me? That’s it. You call me up by
sunphone any old time. Bumboosers, save your stamps.
(He shouts) Now then our glory song. All join heartily in
the singing. Encore! (He sings) Jeru ...
THE GRAMOPHONE: (Drowning his voice)
Whorusalaminyourhighhohhhh ... (The disc rasps gratingly
against the needle)
THE THREE WHORES: (Covering their ears, squawk)
Ahhkkk!
ELIJAH: (In rolledup shirtsleeves, black in the face, shouts at
the top of his voice, his arms uplifted) Big Brother up there,
Mr President, you hear what I done just been saying to
you. Certainly, I sort of believe strong in you, Mr
President. I certainly am thinking now Miss Higgins and
Miss Ricketts got religion way inside them. Certainly
seems to me I don’t never see no wusser scared female
than the way you been, Miss Florry, just now as I done
seed you. Mr President, you come long and help me save
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our sisters dear. (He winks at his audience) Our Mr
President, he twig the whole lot and he aint saying
nothing.
KITTY-KATE: I forgot myself. In a weak moment I
erred and did what I did on Constitution hill. I was
confirmed by the bishop and enrolled in the brown
scapular. My mother’s sister married a Montmorency. It
was a working plumber was my ruination when I was
pure.
ZOE-FANNY: I let him larrup it into me for the fun
of it.
FLORRY-TERESA: It was in consequence of a
portwine beverage on top of Hennessy’s three star. I was
guilty with Whelan when he slipped into the bed.
STEPHEN: In the beginning was the word, in the end
the world without end. Blessed be the eight beatitudes.
(The beatitudes, Dixon, Madden, Crotthers, Costello,
Lenehan, Bannon, Mulligan and Lynch in white surgical
students’ gowns, four abreast, goosestepping, tramp fist past in
noisy marching)
THE BEATITUDES: (Incoherently) Beer beef battledog
buybull businum barnum buggerum bishop.
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LYSTER: (In quakergrey kneebreeches and broadbrimmed
hat, says discreetly) He is our friend. I need not mention
names. Seek thou the light.
(He corantos by. Best enters in hairdresser’s attire, shinily
laundered, his locks in curlpapers. He leads John Eglinton who
wears a mandarin’s kimono of Nankeen yellow, lizardlettered,
and a high pagoda hat.)
BEST: (Smiling, lifts the hat and displays a shaven poll from
the crown of which bristles a pigtail toupee tied with an orange
topknot) I was just beautifying him, don’t you know. A
thing of beauty, don’t you know, Yeats says, or I mean,
Keats says.
JOHN EGLINTON: (Produces a greencapped dark lantern
and flashes it towards a corner: with carping accent) Esthetics
and cosmetics are for the boudoir. I am out for truth. Plain
truth for a plain man. Tanderagee wants the facts and
means to get them.
(In the cone of the searchlight behind the coalscuttle, ollave,
holyeyed, the bearded figure of Mananaun Maclir broods, chin on
knees. He rises slowly. A cold seawind blows from his druid
mouth. About his head writhe eels and elvers. He is encrusted
with weeds and shells. His right hand holds a bicycle pump. His
left hand grasps a huge crayfish by its two talons.)
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