Romantiikan jälkeen?
Ruf, Joycen muotokuva, n. 1918

James Joyce n. v. 1918 (kuva: J. Ruf)

James Joyce, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, 1st ed. (London: Egoist, 1916).
Online facsimile edition @

[Pp. 1–2:]

Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo…

His father told him that story: his father looked at him through a glass: he had a hairy face.

He was baby tuckoo. The moocow came down the road where Betty Byrne lived: she sold lemon platt.

O, the wild rose blossoms
On the little green place.

He sang that song. That was his song.

O, the green wothe botheth.

When you wet the bed first it is warm then it gets cold. His mother put on the oilsheet. That had the queer smell.

His mother had a nicer smell than his father.

[Pp. 298–299:]

APRIL 16. Away! Away!

The spell of arms and voices: the white arms of roads, their promise of close embraces and the black arms of tall ships that stand against the moon, their tale of distant nations. They are held out to say: We are alone—come. And the voices say with them: We are your kinsmen. And the air is thick with their company as they call to me, their kinsman, making ready to go, shaking the wings of their exultant and terrible youth.

APRIL 26. Mother is putting my new secondhand clothes in order. She prays now, she says, that I may learn in my own life and away from home and friends what the heart is and what it feels. Amen. So be it.

Welcome, O life, I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race.

APRIL 27. Old father, old artificer, stand me now and ever in good stead.


James Joyce, Ulysses (1922)
Online text @ Wikisource (pre-1923 edition)

PROTEUS episode, incipit:

INELUCTABLE MODALITY OF THE VISIBLE: AT LEAST THAT IF NO MORE, thought through my eyes. Signatures of all things I am here to read, seaspawn and seawrack, the nearing tide, that rusty boot. Snotgreen, bluesilver, rust: coloured signs. Limits of the diaphane. But he adds: in bodies. Then he was aware of them bodies before of them coloured. How? By knocking his sconce against them, sure. Go easy. Bald he was and a millionaire, maestro di color che sanno. Limit of the diaphane in. Why in? Diaphane, adiaphane. If you can put your five fingers through it, it is a gate, if not a door. Shut your eyes and see.

Stephen closed his eyes to hear his boots crush crackling wrack and shells. You are walking through it howsomever. I am, a stride at a time. A very short space of time through very short times of space. Five, six: the nacheinander. Exactly: and that is the ineluctable modality of the audible. Open your eyes. No. Jesus! If I fell over a cliff that beetles o'er his base, fell through the nebeneinander ineluctably. I am getting on nicely in the dark. My ash sword hangs at my side. Tap with it: they do. My two feet in his boots are at the end of his legs, nebeneinander. Sounds solid: made by the mallet of Los Demiurgos. Am I walking into eternity along Sandymount strand? Crush, crack, crick, crick. Wild sea money. Dominie Deasy kens them a'.

Won't you come to Sandymount,
Madeline the mare?

[Read more @ Wikisource]

Ernst Reichl, Ulysses, title page (1934)

NAUSICÄA episode (Wikisource):

The summer evening had begun to fold the world in its mysterious embrace. Far away in the west the sun was setting and the last glow of all too fleeting day lingered lovingly on sea and strand, on the proud promontory of dear old Howth guarding as ever the waters of the bay, on the weedgrown rocks along Sandymount shore and, last but not least, on the quiet church whence there streamed forth at times upon the stillness the voice of prayer to her who is in her pure radiance a beacon ever to the stormtossed heart of man, Mary, star of the sea.

The three girl friends were seated on the rocks, enjoying the evening scene and the air which was fresh but not too chilly. Many a time and oft were they wont to come there to that favourite nook to have a cosy chat beside the sparkling waves and discuss matters feminine, Cissy Caffrey and Edy Boardman with the baby in the pushcar and Tommy and Jacky Caffrey, two little curlyheaded boys, dressed in sailor suits with caps to match and the name H.M.S. Belleisle printed on both. For Tommy and Jacky Caffrey were twins, scarce four years old and very noisy and spoiled twins sometimes but for all that darling little fellows with bright merry faces and endearing ways about them. They were dabbling in the sand with their spades and buckets, building castles as children do, or playing with their big coloured ball, happy as the day was long. And Edy Boardman was rocking the chubby baby to and fro in the pushcar while that young gentleman fairly chuckled with delight. He was but eleven months and nine days old and, though still a tiny toddler, was just beginning to lisp his first babyish words. Cissy Caffrey bent over to him to tease his fat little plucks and the dainty dimple in his chin.

—Now, baby, Cissy Caffrey said. Say out big, big. I want a drink of water.

And baby prattled after her:

—A jink a jink a jawbo.

Cissy Caffrey cuddled the wee chap for she was awfully fond of children, so patient with little sufferers and Tommy Caffrey could never be got to take his castor oil unless it was Cissy Caffrey that held his nose and promised him the scatty heel of the loaf or brown bread with golden syrup on. What a persuasive power that girl had! But to be sure baby Boardman was as good as gold, a perfect little dote in his new fancy bib. None of your spoilt beauties, Flora MacFlimsy sort, was Cissy Caffrey. A truerhearted lass never drew the breath of life, always with a laugh in her gipsylike eyes and a frolicsome word on her cherryripe red lips, a girl lovable in the extreme. And Edy Boardman laughed too at the quaint language of little brother.

But just then there was a slight altercation between Master Tommy and Master Jacky. Boys will be boys and our two twins were no exception to this golden rule. The apple of discord was a certain castle of sand which Master Jacky had built and Master Tommy would have it right go wrong that it was to be architecturally improved by a frontdoor like the Martello tower had. But if Master Tommy was headstrong Master Jacky was selfwilled too and, true to the maxim that every little Irishman's house is his castle, he fell upon his hated rival and to such purpose that the wouldbe assailant came to grief and (alas to relate!) the coveted castle too. Needless to say the cries of discomfited Master Tommy drew the attention of the girl friends.

—Come here, Tommy, his sister called imperatively. At once! And you, Jacky, for shame to throw poor Tommy in the dirty sand. Wait till I catch you for that.

His eyes misty with unshed tears Master Tommy came at her call for their big sister's word was law with the twins. And in a sad plight he was too after his misadventure. His little man-o'-war top and unmentionables were full of sand but Cissy was a past mistress in the art of smoothing over life's tiny troubles and very quickly not one speck of sand was to be seen on his smart little suit. Still the blue eyes were glistening with hot tears that would well up so she kissed away the hurtness and shook her hand at Master Jacky the culprit and said if she was near him she wouldn't be far from him, her eyes dancing in admonition.

—Nasty bold Jacky! she cried.

She put an arm round the little mariner and coaxed winningly:

—What's your name? Butter and cream?

—Tell us who is your sweetheart, spoke Edy Boardman. Is Cissy your sweetheart?

—Nao, tearful Tommy said.

—Is Edy Boardman your sweetheart? Cissy queried.

—Nao, Tommy said.

—I know, Edy Boardman said none too amiably with an arch glance from her shortsighted eyes. I know who is Tommy's sweetheart. Gerty is Tommy's sweetheart.

—Nao, Tommy said on the verge of tears.

Cissy's quick motherwit guessed what was amiss and she whispered to Edy Boardman to take him there behind the pushcar where the gentleman couldn't see and to mind he didn't wet his new tan shoes.

But who was Gerty?

Gerty MacDowell who was seated near her companions, lost in thought, gazing far away into the distance was, in very truth, as fair a specimen of winsome Irish girlhood as one could wish to see. She was pronounced beautiful by all who knew her though, as folks often said, she was more a Giltrap than a MacDowell. Her figure was slight and graceful, inclining even to fragility but those iron jelloids she had been taking of late had done her a world of good much better than the Widow Welch's female pills and she was much better of those discharges she used to get and that tired feeling. The waxen pallor of her face was almost spiritual in its ivorylike purity though her rosebud mouth was a genuine Cupid's bow, Greekly perfect. Her hands were of finely veined alabaster with tapering fingers and as white as lemonjuice and queen of ointments could make them though it was not true that she used to wear kid gloves in bed or take a milk footbath either. Bertha Supple told that once to Edy Boardman, a deliberate lie, when she was black out at daggers drawn with Gerty (the girl chums had of course their little tiffs from time to time like the rest of mortals) and she told her not to let on whatever she did that it was her that told her or she'd never speak to her again. No. Honour where honour is due. There was an innate refinement, a languid queenly hauteur about Gerty which was unmistakably evidenced in her delicate hands and higharched instep. Had kind fate but willed her to be born a gentlewoman of high degree in her own right and had she only received the benefit of a good education Gerty MacDowell might easily have held her own beside any lady in the land and have seen herself exquisitely gowned with jewels on her brow and patrician suitors at her feet vying with one another to pay their devoirs to her. Mayhap it was this, the love that might have been, that lent to her softlyfeatured face at whiles a look, tense with suppressed meaning, that imparted a strange yearning tendency to the beautiful eyes, a charm few could resist. Why have women such eyes of witchery? Gerty's were of the bluest Irish blue, set off by lustrous lashes and dark expressive brows. Time was when those brows were not so silkily seductive. It was Madame Vera Verity, directress of the Woman Beautiful page of the Princess Novelette, who had first advised her to try eyebrowleine which gave that haunting expression to the eyes, so becoming in leaders of fashion, and she had never regretted it. Then there was blushing scientifically cured and how to be tall increase your height and you have a beautiful face but your nose? That would suit Mrs Dignam because she had a button one. But Gerty's crowning glory was her wealth of wonderful hair. It was dark brown with a natural wave in it. She had cut it that very morning on account of the new moon and it nestled about her pretty head in a profusion of luxuriant clusters and pared her nails too, Thursday for wealth. And just now at Edy's words as a telltale flush, delicate as the faintest rosebloom, crept into her cheeks she looked so lovely in her sweet girlish shyness that of a surety God's fair land of Ireland did not hold her equal.

For an instant she was silent with rather sad downcast eyes. She was about to retort but something checked the words on her tongue. Inclination prompted her to speak out: dignity told her to be silent. The pretty lips pouted awhile but then she glanced up and broke out into a joyous little laugh which had in it all the freshness of a young May morning. She knew right well, no-one better, what made squinty Edy say that because of him cooling in his attentions when it was simply a lovers' quarrel. As per usual somebody's nose was out of joint about the boy that had the bicycle off the London bridge road always riding up and down in front of her window. Only now his father kept him in in the evenings studying hard to get an exhibition in the intermediate that was on and he was going to go to Trinity college to study for a doctor when he left the high school like his brother W. E. Wylie who was racing in the bicycle races in Trinity college university. Little recked he perhaps for what she felt, that dull aching void in her heart sometimes, piercing to the core. Yet he was young and perchance he might learn to love her in time. They were protestants in his family and of course Gerty knew Who came first and after Him the Blessed Virgin and then Saint Joseph. But he was undeniably handsome with an exquisite nose and he was what he looked, every inch a gentleman, the shape of his head too at the back without his cap on that she would know anywhere something off the common and the way he turned the bicycle at the lamp with his hands off the bars and also the nice perfume of those good cigarettes and besides they were both of a size too he and she and that was why Edy Boardman thought she was so frightfully clever because he didn't go and ride up and down in front of her bit of a garden.

Gerty was dressed simply but with the instinctive taste of a votary of Dame Fashion for she felt that there was just a might that he might be out. A neat blouse of electric blue selftinted by dolly dyes (because it was expected in the Lady's Pictorial that electric blue would be worn) with a smart vee opening down to the division and kerchief pocket (in which she always kept a piece of cottonwool scented with her favourite perfume because the handkerchief spoiled the sit) and a navy threequarter skirt cut to the stride showed off her slim graceful figure to perfection. She wore a coquettish little love of a hat of wideleaved nigger straw contrast trimmed with an underbrim of eggblue chenille and at the side a butterfly bow of silk to tone. All Tuesday week afternoon she was hunting to match that chenille but at last she found what she wanted at Clery's summer sales, the very it, slightly shopsoiled but you would never notice, seven fingers two and a penny. She did it up all by herself and what joy was hers when she tried it on then, smiling at the lovely reflection which the mirror gave back to her! And when she put it on the waterjug to keep the shape she knew that that would take the shine out of some people she knew. Her shoes were the newest thing in footwear (Edy Boardman prided herself that she was very petite but she never had a foot like Gerty MacDowell, a five, and never would ash, oak or elm) with patent toecaps and just one smart buckle over her higharched instep. Her wellturned ankle displayed its perfect proportions beneath her skirt and just the proper amount and no more of her shapely limbs encased in finespun hose with highspliced heels and wide garter tops. As for undies they were Gerty's chief care and who that knows the fluttering hopes and fears of sweet seventeen (though Gerty would never see seventeen again) can find it in his heart to blame her? She had four dinky sets with awfully pretty stitchery, three garments and nighties extra, and each set slotted with different coloured ribbons, rosepink, pale blue, mauve and peagreen, and she aired them herself and blued them when they came home from the wash and ironed them and she had a brickbat to keep the iron on because she wouldn't trust those washerwomen as far as she'd see them scorching the things. She was wearing the blue for luck, hoping against hope, her own colour and lucky too for a bride to have a bit of blue somewhere on her because the green she wore that day week brought grief because his father brought him in to study for the intermediate exhibition and because she thought perhaps he might be out because when she was dressing that morning she nearly slipped up the old pair on her inside out and that was for luck and lovers' meeting if you put those things on inside out or if they got untied that he was thinking about you so long as it wasn't of a Friday.

And yet and yet! That strained look on her face! A gnawing sorrow is there all the time. Her very soul is in her eyes and she would give worlds to be in the privacy of her own familiar chamber where, giving way to tears, she could have a good cry and relieve her pentup feelingsthough not too much because she knew how to cry nicely before the mirror. You are lovely, Gerty, it said. The paly light of evening falls upon a face infinitely sad and wistful. Gerty MacDowell yearns in vain. Yes, she had known from the very first that her daydream of a marriage has been arranged and the weddingbells ringing for Mrs Reggy Wylie T. C. D. (because the one who married the elder brother would be Mrs Wylie) and in the fashionable intelligence Mrs Gertrude Wylie was wearing a sumptuous confection of grey trimmed with expensive blue fox was not to be. He was too young to understand. He would not believe in love, a woman's birthright. The night of the party long ago in Stoer's (he was still in short trousers) when they were alone and he stole an arm round her waist she went white to the very lips. He called her little one in a strangely husky voice and snatched a half kiss (the first!) but it was only the end of her nose and then he hastened from the room with a remark about refreshments. Impetuous fellow! Strength of character had never been Reggy Wylie's strong point and he who would woo and win Gerty MacDowell must be a man among men. But waiting, always waiting to be asked and it was leap year too and would soon be over. No prince charming is her beau ideal to lay a rare and wondrous love at her feet but rather a manly man with a strong quiet face who had not found his ideal, perhaps his hair slightly flecked with grey, and who would understand, take her in his sheltering arms, strain her to him in all the strength of his deep passionate nature and comfort her with a long long kiss. It would be like heaven. For such a one she yearns this balmy summer eve. With all the heart of her she longs to be his only, his affianced bride for riches for poor, in sickness in health, till death us two part, from this to this day forward.

And while Edy Boardman was with little Tommy behind the pushcar she was just thinking would the day ever come when she could call herself his little wife to be. Then they could talk about her till they went blue in the face, Bertha Supple too, and Edy, little spitfire, because she would be twentytwo in November. She would care for him with creature comforts too for Gerty was womanly wise and knew that a mere man liked that feeling of hominess. Her griddlecakes done to a goldenbrown hue and queen Ann's pudding of delightful creaminess had won golden opinions from all because she had a lucky hand also for lighting a fire, dredge in the fine selfraising flour and always stir in the same direction, then cream the milk and sugar and whisk well the white of eggs though she didn't like the eating part when there were any people that made her shy and often she wondered why you couldn't eat something poetical like violets or roses and they would have a beautifully appointed drawingroom with pictures and engravings and the photograph of grandpapa Giltrap's lovely dog Garryowen that almost talked it was so human and chintz covers for the chairs and that silver toastrack in Clery's summer jumble sales like they have in rich houses. He would be tall with broad shoulders (she had always admired tall men for a husband) with glistening white teeth under his carefully trimmed sweeping moustache and they would go on the continent for their honeymoon (three wonderful weeks!) and then, when they settled down in a nice snug and cosy little homely house, every morning they would both have brekky, simple but perfectly served, for their own two selves and before he went out to business he would give his dear little wifey a good hearty hug and gaze for a moment deep down into her eyes.

Edy Boardman asked Tommy Caffrey was he done and he said yes so then she buttoned up his little knickerbockers for him and told him to run off and play with Jacky and to be good now and not to fight. But Tommy said he wanted the ball and Edy told him no that baby was playing with the ball and if he took it there'd be wigs on the green but Tommy said it was his ball and he wanted his ball and he pranced on the ground, if you please. The temper of him! O, he was a man already was little Tommy Caffrey since he was out of pinnies. Edy told him no, no and to be off now with him and she told Cissy Caffrey not to give in to him.

—You're not my sister, naughty Tommy said. It's my ball.

But Cissy Caffrey told baby Boardman to look up, look up high at her finger and she snatched the ball quickly and threw it along the sand and Tommy after it in full career, having won the day.

—Anything for a quiet life, laughed Ciss.

And she tickled tiny tot's two cheeks to make him forget and played here's the lord mayor, here's his two horses, here's his gingerbread carriage and here he walks in, chinchopper, chinchopper, chinchopper chin. But Edy got as cross as two sticks about him getting his own way like that from everyone always petting him.

—I'd like to give him something, she said, so I would, where I won't say.

—On the beeoteetom, laughed Cissy merrily.

Gerty MacDowell bent down her head and crimsoned at the idea of Cissy saying an unladylike thing like that out loud she'd be ashamed of her life to say, flushing a deep rosy red, and Edy Boardman said she was sure the gentleman opposite heard what she said. But not a pin cared Ciss.

—Let him! she said with a pert toss of her head and a piquant tilt of her nose. Give it to him too on the same place as quick as I'd look at him.

Madcap Ciss with her golliwog curls. You had to laugh at her sometimes. For instance when she asked you would you have some more Chinese tea and jaspberry ram and when she drew the jugs too and the men's faces on her nails with red ink make you split your sides or when she wanted to go where you know she said she wanted to run and pay a visit to the Miss White. That was just like Cissycums. O, and will you ever forget her the evening she dressed up in her father's suit and hat and the burned cork moustache and walked down Tritonville road, smoking a cigarette. There was none to come up to her for fun. But she was sincerity itself, one of the bravest and truest hearts heaven ever made, not one of your twofaced things, too sweet to be wholesome.

And then there came out upon the air the sound of voices and the pealing anthem of the organ. It was the men's temperance retreat conducted by the missioner, the reverend John Hughes S. J., rosary, sermon and benediction of the Most Blessed Sacrament. They were there gathered together without distinction of social class (and a most edifying spectacle it was to see) in that simple fane beside the waves, after the storms of this weary world, kneeling before the feet of the immaculate, reciting the litany of Our Lady of Loreto, beseeching her to intercede for them, the old familiar words, holy Mary, holy virgin of virgins. How sad to poor Gerty's ears! Had her father only avoided the clutches of the demon drink, by taking the pledge or those powders the drink habit cured in Pearson's Weekly, she might now be rolling in her carriage, second to none. Over and over had she told herself that as she mused by the dying embers in a brown study without the lamp because she hated two lights or oftentimes gazing out of the window dreamily by the hour at the rain falling on the rusty bucket, thinking. But that vile decoction which has ruined so many hearths and homes had cist its shadow over her childhood days. Nay, she had even witnessed in the home circle deeds of violence caused by intemperance and had seen her own father, a prey to the fumes of intoxication, forget himself completely for if there was one thing of all things that Gerty knew it was that the man who lifts his hand to a woman save in the way of kindness, deserves to be branded as the lowest of the low.

And still the voices sang in supplication to the Virgin most powerful, Virgin most merciful. And Gerty, rapt in thought, scarce saw or heard her companions or the twins at their boyish gambols or the gentleman off Sandymount green that Cissy Caffrey called the man that was so like himself passing along the strand taking a short walk. You never saw him any way screwed but still and for all that she would not like him for a father because he was too old or something or on account of his face (it was a palpable case of Doctor Fell) or his carbuncly nose with the pimples on it and his sandy moustache a bit white under his nose. Poor father! With all his faults she loved him still when he sang Tell me, Mary, how to woo thee or My love and cottage near Rochelle and they had stewed cockles and lettuce with Lazenby's salad dressing for supper and when he sang The moon hath raised with Mr Dignam that died suddenly and was buried, God have mercy on him, from a stroke. Her mother's birthday that was and Charley was home on his holidays and Tom and Mr Dignam and Mrs and Patsy and Freddy Dignam and they were to have had a group taken. No-one would have thought the end was so near. Now he was laid to rest. And her mother said to him to let that be a warning to him for the rest of his days and he couldn't even go to the funeral on account of the gout and she had to go into town to bring him the letters and samples from his office about Catesby's cork lino, artistic, standard designs, fit for a palace, gives tiptop wear and always bright and cheery in the home.

A sterling good daughter was Gerty just like a second mother in the house, a ministering angel too with a little heart worth its weight in gold. And when her mother had those raging splitting headaches who was it rubbed the menthol cone on her forehead but Gerty though she didn't like her mother's taking pinches of snuff and that was the only single thing they ever had words about, taking snuff. Everyone thought the world of her for her gentle ways. It was Gerty who turned off the gas at the main every night and it was Gerty who tacked up on the wall of that place where she never forgot every fortnight the chlorate of lime Mr Tunney the grocer's christmas almanac, the picture of halcyon days where a young gentleman in the costume they used to wear then with a threecornered hat was offering a bunch of flowers to his ladylove with oldtime chivalry through her lattice window. You could see there was a story behind it. The colours were done something lovely. She was in a soft clinging white in a studied attitude and the gentleman was in chocolate and he looked a thorough aristocrat. She often looked at them dreamily when she went there for a certain purpose and felt her own arms that were white and soft just like hers with the sleeves back and thought about those times because she had found out in Walker's pronouncing dictionary that belonged to grandpapa Giltrap about the halcyon days what they meant.

The twins were now playing in the most approved brotherly fashion till at last Master Jacky who was really as bold as brass there was no getting behind that deliberately kicked the ball as hard as ever he could down towards the seaweedy rocks. Needless to say poor Tommy was not slow to voice his dismay but luckily the gentleman in black who was sitting there by himself came gallantly to the rescue and intercepted the ball. Our two champions claimed their plaything with lusty cries and to avoid trouble Cissy Caffrey called to the gentleman to throw it to her please. The gentleman aimed the ball once or twice and then threw it up the strand towards Cissy Caffrey but it rolled down the slope and stopped right under Gerty's skirt near the little pool by the rock. The twins clamoured again for it and Cissy told her to kick it away and let them fight for it so Gerty drew back her foot but she wished their stupid ball hadn't come rolling down to her and she gave a kick but she missed and Edy and Cissy laughed.

—If you fail try again, Edy Boardman said.

Gerty smiled assent and bit her lip. A delicate pink crept into her pretty cheek but she was determined to let them see so she just lifted her skirt a little but just enough and took good aim and gave the ball a jolly good kick and it went ever so far and the two twins after it down towards the shingle. Pure jealousy of course it was nothing else to draw attention on account of the gentleman opposite looking. She felt the warm flush, a danger signal always with Gerty MacDowell, surging and flaming into her cheeks. Till then they had only exchanged glances of the most casual but now under the brim of her new hat she ventured a look at him and the face that met her gaze there in the twilight, wan and strangely drawn, seemed to her the saddest she had ever seen.

Through the open window of the church the fragrant incense was wafted and with it the fragrant names of her who was conceived without stain of original sin, spiritual vessel, pray for us, honourable vessel, pray for us, vessel of singular devotion, pray for us, mystical rose. And careworn hearts were there and toilers for their daily bread and many who had erred and wandered, their eyes wet with contrition but for all that bright with hope for the reverend father Father Hughes had told them what the great saint Bernard said in his famous prayer of Mary, the most pious Virgin's intercessory power that it was not recorded in any age that those who implored her powerful protection were ever abandoned by her.

The twins were now playing again right merrily for the troubles of childhood are but as fleeting summer showers. Cissy Caffrey played with baby Boardman till he crowed with glee, clapping baby hands in air. Peep she cried behind the hood of the pushcar and Edy asked where was Cissy gone and then Cissy popped up her head and cried ah! and, my word, didn't the little chap enjoy that! And then she told him to say papa.

—Say papa, baby. Say pa pa pa pa pa pa pa.

And baby did his level best to say it for he was very intelligent for eleven months everyone said and big for his age and the picture of health, a perfect little bunch of love, and he would certainly turn out to be something great, they said.

—Haja ja ja haja.

Cissy wiped his little mouth with the dribbling bib and wanted him to sit up properly and say pa pa pa but when she undid the strap she cried out, holy saint Denis, that he was possing wet and to double the half blanket the other way under him. Of course his infant majesty was most obstreperous at such toilet formalities and he let everyone know it:

—Habaa baaaahabaaa baaaa.

And two great big lovely big tears coursing down his cheeks. It was all no use soothering him with no, nono, baby, no and telling him about the geegee and where was the puffpuff but Ciss, always readywitted, gave him in his mouth the teat of the suckingbottle and the young heathen was quickly appeased.

Gerty wished to goodness they would take their squalling baby home out of that and not get on her nerves, no hour to be out, and the little brats of twins. She gazed out towards the distant sea. It was like the paintings that man used to do on the pavement with all the coloured chalks and such a pity too leaving them there to be all blotted out, the evening and the clouds coming out and the Bailey light on Howth and to hear the music like that and the perfume of those incense they burned in the church like a kind of waft. And while she gazed her heart went pitapat. Yes, it was her he was looking at, and there was meaning in his look. His eyes burned into her as though they would search her through and through, read her very soul. Wonderful eyes they were, superbly expressive, but could you trust them? People were so queer. She could see at once by his dark eyes and his pale intellectual face that he was a foreigner, the image of the photo she had of Martin Harvey, the matinee idol, only for the moustache which she preferred because she wasn't stagestruck like Winny Rippingham that wanted they two to always dress the same on account of a play but she could not see whether he had an aquiline nose or a slightly retroussé from where he was sitting. He was in deep mourning, she could see that, and the story of a haunting sorrow was written on his face. She would have given worlds to know what it was. He was looking up so intently, so still, and he saw her kick the ball and perhaps he could see the bright steel buckles of her shoes if she swung them like that thoughtfully with the toes down. She was glad that something told her to put on the transparent stockings thinking Reggy Wylie might be out but that was far away. Here was that of which she had so often dreamed. It was he who mattered and there was joy on her face because she wanted him because she felt instinctively that he was like no-one else. The very heart of the girlwoman went out to him, her dreamhusband, because she knew on the instant it was him. If he had suffered, more sinned against than sinning, or even, even, if he had been himself a sinner, a wicked man, she cared not. Even if he was a protestant or methodist she could convert him easily if he truly loved her. There were wounds that wanted healing with heartbalm. She was a womanly woman not like other flighty girls unfeminine he had known, those cyclists showing off what they hadn't got and she just yearned to know all, to forgive all if she could make him fall in love with her, make him forget the memory of the past. Then mayhap he would embrace her gently, like a real man, crushing her soft body to him, and love her, his ownest girlie, for herself alone.

Refuge of sinners. Comfortress of the afflicted. Ora pro nobis. Well has it been said that whosoever prays to her with faith and constancy can never be lost or cast away: and fitly is she too a haven of refuge for the afflicted because of the seven dolours which transpierced her own heart. Gerty could picture the whole scene in the church, the stained glass windows lighted up, the candles, the flowers and the blue banners of the blessed Virgin's sodality and Father Conroy was helping Canon O'Hanlon at the altar, carrying things in and out with his eyes cast down. He looked almost a saint and his confessionbox was so quiet and clean and dark and his hands were just like white wax and if ever she became a Dominican nun in their white habit perhaps he might come to the convent for the novena of Saint Dominic. He told her that time when she told him about that in confession, crimsoning up to the roots of her hair for fear he could see, not to be troubled because that was only the voice of nature and we were all subject to nature's laws, he said, in this life and that that was no sin because that came from the nature of woman instituted by God, he said, and that Our Blessed Lady herself said to the archangel Gabriel be it done unto me according to Thy Word. He was so kind and holy and often and often she thought and thought could she work a ruched teacosy with embroidered floral design for him as a present or a clock but they had a clock she noticed on the mantelpiece white and gold with a canarybird that came out of a little house to tell the time the day she went there about the flowers for the forty hours' adoration because it was hard to know what sort of a present to give or perhaps an album of illuminated views of Dublin or some place.

The exasperating little brats of twins began to quarrel again and Jacky threw the ball out towards the sea and they both ran after it. Little monkeys common as ditchwater. Someone ought to take them and give them a good hiding for themselves to keep them in their places, the both of them. And Cissy and Edy shouted after them to come back because they were afraid the tide might come in on them and be drowned.

—Jacky! Tommy!

Not they! What a great notion they had! So Cissy said it was the very last time she'd ever bring them out. She jumped up and called them and she ran down the slope past him, tossing her hair behind her which had a good enough colour if there had been more of it but with all the thingamerry she was always rubbing into it she couldn't get it to grow long because it wasn't natural so she could just go and throw her hat at it. She ran with long gandery strides it was a wonder she didn't rip up her skirt at the side that was too tight on her because there was a lot of the tomboy about Cissy Caffrey and she was a forward piece whenever she thought she had a good opportunity to show and just because she was a good runner she ran like that so that he could see all the end of her petticoat running and her skinny shanks up as far as possible. It would have served her just right if she had tripped up over something accidentally on purpose with her high crooked French heels on her to make her look tall and got a fine tumble. Tableau! That would have been a very charming expose for a gentleman like that to witness.

Queen of angels, queen of patriarchs, queen of prophets, of all saints, they prayed, queen of the most holy rosary and then Father Conroy handed the thurible to Canon O'Hanlon and he put in the incense and censed the Blessed Sacrament and Cissy Caffrey caught the two twins and she was itching to give them a ringing good clip on the ear but she didn't because she thought he might be watching but she never made a bigger mistake in all her life because Gerty could see without looking that he never took his eyes off of her and then Canon O'Hanlon handed the thurible back to Father Conroy and knelt down looking up at the Blessed Sacrament and the choir began to sing the Tantum ergo and she just swung her foot in and out in time as the music rose and fell to the Tantumer gosa cramen tum. Three and eleven she paid for those stockings in Sparrow's of George's street on the Tuesday, no the Monday before Easter and there wasn't a brack on them and that was what he was looking at, transparent, and not at her insignificant ones that had neither shape nor form (the cheek of her!) because he had eyes in his head to see the difference for himself.

Cissy came up along the strand with the two twins and their ball with her hat anyhow on her to one side after her run and she did look a streel tugging the two kids along with the flimsy blouse she bought only a fortnight before like a rag on her back and a bit of her petticoat hanging like a caricature. Gerty just took off her hat for a moment to settle her hair and a prettier, a daintier head of nutbrown tresses was never seen on a girl's shoulders—a radiant little vision, in sooth, almost maddening in its sweetness. You would have to travel many a long mile before you found a head of hair the like of that. She could almost see the swift answering flash of admiration in his eyes that set her tingling in every nerve. She put on her hat so that she could see from underneath the brim and swung her buckled shoe faster for her breath caught as she caught the expression in his eyes. He was eying her as a snake eyes its prey. Her woman's instinct told her that she had raised the devil in him and at the thought a burning scarlet swept from throat to brow till the lovely colour of her face became a glorious rose.

Edy Boardman was noticing it too because she was squinting at Gerty, half smiling, with her specs like an old maid, pretending to nurse the baby. Irritable little gnat she was and always would be and that was why no-one could get on with her poking her nose into what was no concern of hers. And she said to Gerty:

—A penny for your thoughts.

—What? replied Gerty with a smile reinforced by the whitest of teeth. I was only wondering was it late.

Because she wished to goodness they'd take the snottynosed twins and their babby home to the mischief out of that so that was why she just gave a gentle hint about its being late. And when Cissy came up Edy asked her the time and Miss Cissy, as glib as you like, said it was half past kissing time, time to kiss again. But Edy wanted to know because they were told to be in early.

—Wait, said Cissy, I'll run ask my uncle Peter over there what's the time by his conundrum.

So over she went and when he saw her coming she could see him take his hand out of his pocket, getting nervous, and beginning to play with his watchchain, looking up at the church. Passionate nature though he was Gerty could see that he had enormous control over himself. One moment he had been there, fascinated by a loveliness that made him gaze, and the next moment it was the quiet gravefaced gentleman, selfcontrol expressed in every line of his distinguishedlooking figure.

Cissy said to excuse her would he mind please telling her what was the right time and Gerty could see him taking out his watch, listening to it and looking up and clearing his throat and he said he was very sorry his watch was stopped but he thought it must be after eight because the sun was set. His voice had a cultured ring in it and though he spoke in measured accents there was a suspicion of a quiver in the mellow tones. Cissy said thanks and came back with her tongue out and said uncle said his waterworks were out of order.

Then they sang the second verse of the Tantum ergo and Canon O'Hanlon got up again and censed the Blessed Sacrament and knelt down and he told Father Conroy that one of the candles was just going to set fire to the flowers and Father Conroy got up and settled it all right and she could see the gentleman winding his watch and listening to the works and she swung her leg more in and out in time. It was getting darker but he could see and he was looking all the time that he was winding the watch or whatever he was doing to it and then he put it back and put his hands back into his pockets. She felt a kind of a sensation rushing all over her and she knew by the feel of her scalp and that irritation against her stays that that thing must be coming on because the last time too was when she clipped her hair on account of the moon. His dark eyes fixed themselves on her again drinking in her every contour, literally worshipping at her shrine. If ever there was undisguised admiration in a man's passionate gaze it was there plain to be seen on that man's face. It is for you, Gertrude MacDowell, and you know it.

Edy began to get ready to go and it was high time for her and Gerty noticed that that little hint she gave had had the desired effect because it was a long way along the strand to where there was the place to push up the pushcar and Cissy took off the twins' caps and tidied their hair to make herself attractive of course and Canon O'Hanlon stood up with his cope poking up at his neck and Father Conroy handed him the card to read off and he read out Panem de coelo praestitisti eis and Edy and Cissy were talking about the time all the time and asking her but Gerty could pay them back in their own coin and she just answered with scathing politeness when Edy asked her was she heartbroken about her best boy throwing her over. Gerty winced sharply. A brief cold blaze shone from her eyes that spoke volumes of scorn immeasurable. It hurt—O yes, it cut deep because Edy had her own quiet way of saying things like that she knew would wound like the confounded little cat she was. Gerty's lips parted swiftly to frame the word but she fought back the sob that rose to her throat, so slim, so flawless, so beautifully moulded it seemed one an artist might have dreamed of. She had loved him better than he knew. Lighthearted deceiver and fickle like all his sex he would never understand what he had meant to her and for an instant there was in the blue eyes a quick stinging of tears. Their eyes were probing her mercilessly but with a brave effort she sparkled back in sympathy as she glanced at her new conquest for them to see.

—O, responded Gerty, quick as lightning, laughing, and the proud head flashed up. I can throw my cap at who I like because it's leap year.

Her words rang out crystalclear, more musical than the cooing of the ringdove, but they cut the silence icily. There was that in her young voice that told that she was not a one to be lightly trifled with. As for Mr Reggy with his swank and his bit of money she could just chuck him aside as if he was so much filth and never again would she cast as much as a second thought on him and tear his silly postcard into a dozen pieces. And if ever after he dared to presume she could give him one look of measured scorn that would make him shrivel up on the spot. Miss puny little Edy's countenance fell to no slight extent and Gerty could see by her looking as black as thunder that she was simply in a towering rage though she hid it, the little kinnatt, because that shaft had struck home for her petty jealousy and they both knew that she was something aloof, apart, in another sphere, that she was not of them and never would be and there was somebody else too that knew it and saw it so they could put that in their pipe and smoke it.

Edy straightened up baby Boardman to get ready to go and Cissy tucked in the ball and the spades and buckets and it was high time too because the sandman was on his way for Master Boardman junior. And Cissy told him too that billy winks was coming and that baby was to go deedaw and baby looked just too ducky, laughing up out of his gleeful eyes, and Cissy poked him like that out of fun in his wee fat tummy and baby, without as much as by your leave, sent up his compliments to all and sundry on to his brandnew dribbling bib.

—O my! Puddeny pie! protested Ciss. He has his bib destroyed.

The slight contretemps claimed her attention but in two twos she set that little matter to rights.

Gerty stifled a smothered exclamation and gave a nervous cough and Edy asked what and she was just going to tell her to catch it while it was flying but she was ever ladylike in her deportment so she simply passed it off with consummate tact by saying that that was the benediction because just then the bell rang out from the steeple over the quiet seashore because Canon O'Hanlon was up on the altar with the veil that Father Conroy put round his shoulders giving the benediction with the Blessed Sacrament in his hands.

How moving the scene there in the gathering twilight, the last glimpse of Erin, the touching chime of those evening bells and at the same time a bat flew forth from the ivied belfry through the dusk, hither, thither, with a tiny lost cry. And she could see far away the lights of the lighthouses so picturesque she would have loved to do with a box of paints because it was easier than to make a man and soon the lamplighter would be going his rounds past the presbyterian church grounds and along by shady Tritonville avenue where the couples walked and lighting the lamp near her window where Reggy Wylie used to turn his freewheel like she read in that book The Lamplighter by Miss Cummins, author of Mabel Vaughan and other tales. For Gerty had her dreams that no-one knew of. She loved to read poetry and when she got a keepsake from Bertha Supple of that lovely confession album with the coralpink cover to write her thoughts in she laid it in the drawer of her toilettable which, though it did not err on the side of luxury, was scrupulously neat and clean. It was there she kept her girlish treasure trove, the tortoiseshell combs, her child of Mary badge, the whiterose scent, the eyebrowleine, her alabaster pouncetbox and the ribbons to change when her things came home from the wash and there were some beautiful thoughts written in it in violet ink that she bought in Hely's of Dame Street for she felt that she too could write poetry if she could only express herself like that poem that appealed to her so deeply that she had copied out of the newspaper she found one evening round the potherbs. Art thou real, my ideal? it was called by Louis J Walsh, Magherafelt, and after there was something about twilight, wilt thou ever? and ofttimes the beauty of poetry, so sad in its transient loveliness, had misted her eyes with silent tears for she felt that the years were slipping by for her, one by one, and but for that one shortcoming she knew she need fear no competition and that was an accident coming down Dalkey hill and she always tried to conceal it. But it must end, she felt. If she saw that magic lure in his eyes there would be no holding back for her. Love laughs at locksmiths. She would make the great sacrifice. Her every effort would be to share his thoughts. Dearer than the whole world would she be to him and gild his days with happiness. There was the allimportant question and she was dying to know was he a married man or a widower who had lost his wife or some tragedy like the nobleman with the foreign name from the land of song had to have her put into a madhouse, cruel only to be kind. But even if—what then? Would it make a very great difference? From everything in the least indelicate her finebred nature instinctively recoiled. She loathed that sort of person, the fallen women off the accommodation walk beside the Dodder that went with the soldiers and coarse men with no respect for a girl's honour, degrading the sex and being taken up to the police station. No, no: not that. They would be just good friends like a big brother and sister without all that other in spite of the conventions of Society with a big ess. Perhaps it was an old flame he was in mourning for from the days beyond recall. She thought she understood. She would try to understand him because men were so different. The old love was waiting, waiting with little white hands stretched out, with blue appealing eyes. Heart of mine! She would follow, her dream of love, the dictates of her heart that told her he was her all in all, the only man in all the world for her for love was the master guide. Nothing else mattered. Come what might she would be wild, untrammelled, free.

Canon O'Hanlon put the Blessed Sacrament back into the tabernacle and genuflected and the choir sang Laudate Dominum omnes gentes and then he locked the tabernacle door because the benediction was over and Father Conroy handed him his hat to put on and crosscat Edy asked wasn't she coming but Jacky Caffrey called out:

—O, look, Cissy!

And they all looked was it sheet lightning but Tommy saw it too over the trees beside the church, blue and then green and purple.

—It's fireworks, Cissy Caffrey said.

And they all ran down the strand to see over the houses and the church, helterskelter, Edy with the pushcar with baby Boardman in it and Cissy holding Tommy and Jacky by the hand so they wouldn't fall running.

—Come on, Gerty, Cissy called. It's the bazaar fireworks.

But Gerty was adamant. She had no intention of being at their beck and call. If they could run like rossies she could sit so she said she could see from where she was. The eyes that were fastened upon her set her pulses tingling. She looked at him a moment, meeting his glance, and a light broke in upon her. Whitehot passion was in that face, passion silent as the grave, and it had made her his. At last they were left alone without the others to pry and pass remarks and she knew he could be trusted to the death, steadfast, a sterling man, a man of inflexible honour to his fingertips. His hands and face were working and a tremour went over her. She leaned back far to look up where the fireworks were and she caught her knee in her hands so as not to fall back looking up and there was no-one to see only him and her when she revealed all her graceful beautifully shaped legs like that, supply soft and delicately rounded, and she seemed to hear the panting of his heart, his hoarse breathing, because she knew too about the passion of men like that, hotblooded, because Bertha Supple told her once in dead secret and made her swear she'd never about the gentleman lodger that was staying with them out of the Congested Districts Board that had pictures cut out of papers of those skirtdancers and highkickers and she said he used to do something not very nice that you could imagine sometimes in the bed. But this was altogether different from a thing like that because there was all the difference because she could almost feel him draw her face to his and the first quick hot touch of his handsome lips. Besides there was absolution so long as you didn't do the other thing before being married and there ought to be women priests that would understand without your telling out and Cissy Caffrey too sometimes had that dreamy kind of dreamy look in her eyes so that she too, my dear, and Winny Rippingham so mad about actors' photographs and besides it was on account of that other thing coming on the way it did.

And Jacky Caffrey shouted to look, there was another and she leaned back and the garters were blue to match on account of the transparent and they all saw it and they all shouted to look, look, there it was and she leaned back ever so far to see the fireworks and something queer was flying through the air, a soft thing, to and fro, dark. And she saw a long Roman candle going up over the trees, up, up, and, in the tense hush, they were all breathless with excitement as it went higher and higher and she had to lean back more and more to look up after it, high, high, almost out of sight, and her face was suffused with a divine, an entrancing blush from straining back and he could see her other things too, nainsook knickers, the fabric that caresses the skin, better than those other pettiwidth, the green, four and eleven, on account of being white and she let him and she saw that he saw and then it went so high it went out of sight a moment and she was trembling in every limb from being bent so far back that he had a full view high up above her knee where no-one ever not even on the swing or wading and she wasn't ashamed and he wasn't either to look in that immodest way like that because he couldn't resist the sight of the wondrous revealment half offered like those skirtdancers behaving so immodest before gentlemen looking and he kept on looking, looking. She would fain have cried to him chokingly, held out her snowy slender arms to him to come, to feel his lips laid on her white brow, the cry of a young girl's love, a little strangled cry, wrung from her, that cry that has rung through the ages. And then a rocket sprang and bang shot blind blank and O! then the Roman candle burst and it was like a sigh of O! and everyone cried O! O! in raptures and it gushed out of it a stream of rain gold hair threads and they shed and ah! they were all greeny dewy stars falling with golden, O so lovely, O, soft, sweet, soft!

Then all melted away dewily in the grey air: all was silent. Ah! She glanced at him as she bent forward quickly, a pathetic little glance of piteous protest, of shy reproach under which he coloured like a girl He was leaning back against the rock behind. Leopold Bloom (for it is he) stands silent, with bowed head before those young guileless eyes. What a brute he had been! At it again? A fair unsullied soul had called to him and, wretch that he was, how had he answered? An utter cad he had been! He of all men! But there was an infinite store of mercy in those eyes, for him too a word of pardon even though he had erred and sinned and wandered. Should a girl tell? No, a thousand times no. That was their secret, only theirs, alone in the hiding twilight and there was none to know or tell save the little bat that flew so softly through the evening to and fro and little bats don't tell.

Cissy Caffrey whistled, imitating the boys in the football field to show what a great person she was: and then she cried:

—Gerty! Gerty! We're going. Come on. We can see from farther up.

Gerty had an idea, one of love's little ruses. She slipped a hand into her kerchief pocket and took out the wadding and waved in reply of course without letting him and then slipped it back. Wonder if he's too far to. She rose. Was it goodbye? No. She had to go but they would meet again, there, and she would dream of that till then, tomorrow, of her dream of yester eve. She drew herself up to her full height. Their souls met in a last lingering glance and the eyes that reached her heart, full of a strange shining, hung enraptured on her sweet flowerlike face. She half smiled at him wanly, a sweet forgiving smile, a smile that verged on tears, and then they parted.

Slowly, without looking back she went down the uneven strand to Cissy, to Edy to Jacky and Tommy Caffrey, to little baby Boardman. It was darker now and there were stones and bits of wood on the strand and slippy seaweed. She walked with a certain quiet dignity characteristic of her but with care and very slowly because—because Gerty MacDowell was ...

Tight boots? No. She's lame! O!

Mr Bloom watched her as she limped away. Poor girl! That's why she's left on the shelf and the others did a sprint. Thought something was wrong by the cut of her jib. Jilted beauty. A defect is ten times worse in a woman. But makes them polite. Glad I didn't know it when she was on show. Hot little devil all the same. I wouldn't mind. Curiosity like a nun or a negress or a girl with glasses. That squinty one is delicate. Near her monthlies, I expect, makes them feel ticklish. I have such a bad headache today. Where did I put the letter? Yes, all right. All kinds of crazy longings. Licking pennies. Girl in Tranquilla convent that nun told me liked to smell rock oil. Virgins go mad in the end I suppose. Sister? How many women in Dublin have it today? Martha, she. Something in the air. That's the moon. But then why don't all women menstruate at the same time with the same moon, I mean? Depends on the time they were born I suppose. Or all start scratch then get out of step. Sometimes Molly and Milly together. Anyhow I got the best of that. Damned glad I didn't do it in the bath this morning over her silly I will punish you letter. Made up for that tramdriver this morning. That gouger M'Coy stopping me to say nothing. And his wife engagement in the country valise, voice like a pickaxe. Thankful for small mercies. Cheap too. Yours for the asking. Because they want it themselves. Their natural craving. Shoals of them every evening poured out of offices. Reserve better. Don't want it they throw it at you. Catch em alive, O. Pity they can't see themselves. A dream of wellfilled hose. Where was that? Ah, yes. Mutoscope pictures in Capel street: for men only. Peeping Tom. Willy's hat and what the girls did with it. Do they snapshot those girls or is it all a fake? Lingerie does it. Felt for the curves inside her deshabillé. Excites them also when they're. I'm all clean come and dirty me. And they like dressing one another for the sacrifice. Milly delighted with Molly's new blouse. At first. Put them all on to take them all off. Molly. Why I bought her the violet garters. Us too: the tie he wore, his lovely socks and turnedup trousers. He wore a pair of gaiters the night that first we met. His lovely shirt was shining beneath his what? of jet. Say a woman loses a charm with every pin she takes out. Pinned together. O, Mairy lost the pin of her. Dressed up to the nines for somebody. Fashion part of their charm. Just changes when you're on the track of the secret. Except the east: Mary, Martha: now as then. No reasonable offer refused. She wasn't in a hurry either. Always off to a fellow when they are. They never forget an appointment. Out on spec probably. They believe in chance because like themselves. And the others inclined to give her an odd dig. Girl friends at school, arms round each other's necks or with ten fingers locked, kissing and whispering secrets about nothing in the convent garden. Nuns with whitewashed faces, cool coifs and their rosaries going up and down, vindictive too for what they can't get. Barbed wire. Be sure now and write to me. And I'll write to you. Now won't you? Molly and Josie Powell. Till Mr Right comes along, then meet once in a blue moon. Tableau! O, look who it is for the love of God! How are you at all? What have you been doing with yourself? Kiss and delighted to, kiss, to see you. Picking holes in each other's appearance. You're looking splendid. Sister souls. Showing their teeth at one another. How many have you left? Wouldn't lend each other a pinch of salt.


Devils they are when that's coming on them. Dark devilish appearance. Molly often told me feel things a ton weight. Scratch the sole of my foot. O that way! O, that's exquisite! Feel it myself too. Good to rest once in a way. Wonder if it's bad to go with them then. Safe in one way. Turns milk, makes fiddlestrings snap. Something about withering plants I read in a garden. Besides they say if the flower withers she wears she's a flirt. All are. Daresay she felt 1. When you feel like that you often meet what you feel. Liked me or what? Dress they look at. Always know a fellow courting: collars and cuffs. Well cocks and lions do the same and stags. Same time might prefer a tie undone or something. Trousers? Suppose I when I was? No. Gently does it. Dislike rough and tumble. Kiss in the dark and never tell. Saw something in me. Wonder what. Sooner have me as I am than some poet chap with bearsgrease plastery hair, lovelock over his dexter optic. To aid gentleman in literary. Ought to attend to my appearance my age. Didn't let her see me in profile. Still, you never know. Pretty girls and ugly men marrying. Beauty and the beast. Besides I can't be so if Molly. Took off her hat to show her hair. Wide brim. Bought to hide her face, meeting someone might know her, bend down or carry a bunch of flowers to smell. Hair strong in rut. Ten bob I got for Molly's combings when we were on the rocks in Holles street. Why not? Suppose he gave her money. Why not? All a prejudice. She's worth ten, fifteen, more, a pound. What? I think so. All that for nothing. Bold hand: Mrs Marion. Did I forget to write address on that letter like the postcard I sent to Flynn? And the day I went to Drimmie's without a necktie. Wrangle with Molly it was put me off. No, I remember. Richie Goulding: he's another. Weighs on his mind. Funny my watch stopped at half past four. Dust. Shark liver oil they use to clean. Could do it myself. Save. Was that just when he, she?

O, he did. Into her. She did. Done.


Mr Bloom with careful hand recomposed his wet shirt. O Lord, that little limping devil. Begins to feel cold and clammy. Aftereffect not pleasant. Still you have to get rid of it someway. They don't care. Complimented perhaps. Go home to nicey bread and milky and say night prayers with the kiddies. Well, aren't they? See her as she is spoil all. Must have the stage setting, the rouge, costume, position, music. The name too. Amours of actresses. Nell Gwynn, Mrs Bracegirdle, Maud Branscombe. Curtain up. Moonlight silver effulgence. Maiden discovered with pensive bosom. Little sweetheart come and kiss me. Still, I feel. The strength it gives a man. That's the secret of it. Good job I let off there behind the wall coming out of Dignam's. Cider that was. Otherwise I couldn't have. Makes you want to sing after. Lacaus esant taratara. Suppose I spoke to her. What about? Bad plan however if you don't know how to end the conversation. Ask them a question they ask you another. Good idea if you're stuck. Gain time. But then you're in a cart. Wonderful of course if you say: good evening, and you see she's on for it: good evening. O but the dark evening in the Appian way I nearly spoke to Mrs Clinch O thinking she was. Whew! Girl in Meath street that night. All the dirty things I made her say. All wrong of course. My arks she called it. It's so hard to find one who. Aho! If you don't answer when they solicit must be horrible for them till they harden. And kissed my hand when I gave her the extra two shillings. Parrots. Press the button and the bird will squeak. Wish she hadn't called me sir. O, her mouth in the dark! And you a married man with a single girl! That's what they enjoy. Taking a man from another woman. Or even hear of it. Different with me. Glad to get away from other chap's wife. Eating off his cold plate. Chap in the Burton today spitting back gumchewed gristle. French letter still in my pocketbook. Cause of half the trouble. But might happen sometime, I don't think. Come in, all is prepared. I dreamt. What? Worst is beginning. How they change the venue when it's not what they like. Ask you do you like mushrooms because she once knew a gentleman who. Or ask you what someone was going to say when he changed his mind and stopped. Yet if I went the whole hog, say: I want to, something like that. Because I did. She too. Offend her. Then make it up. Pretend to want something awfully, then cry off for her sake. Flatters them. She must have been thinking of someone else all the time. What harm? Must since she came to the use of reason, he, he and he. First kiss does the trick. The propitious moment. Something inside them goes pop. Mushy like, tell by their eye, on the sly. First thoughts are best. Remember that till their dying day. Molly, lieutenant Mulvey that kissed her under the Moorish wall beside the gardens. Fifteen she told me. But her breasts were developed. Fell asleep then. After Glencree dinner that was when we drove home. Featherbed mountain. Gnashing her teeth in sleep. Lord mayor had his eye on her too. Val Dillon. Apoplectic.

There she is with them down there for the fireworks. My fireworks. Up like a rocket, down like a stick. And the children, twins they must be, waiting for something to happen. Want to be grownups. Dressing in mother's clothes. Time enough, understand all the ways of the world. And the dark one with the mop head and the nigger mouth. I knew she could whistle. Mouth made for that. Like Molly. Why that highclass whore in Jammet's wore her veil only to her nose. Would you mind, please, telling me the right time? I'll tell you the right time up a dark lane. Say prunes and prisms forty times every morning, cure for fat lips. Caressing the little boy too. Onlookers see most of the game. Of course they understand birds, animals, babies. In their line.

Didn't look back when she was going down the strand. Wouldn't give that satisfaction. Those girls, those girls, those lovely seaside girls. Fine eyes she had, clear. It's the white of the eye brings that out not so much the pupil. Did she know what I? Course. Like a cat sitting beyond a dog's jump. Women never meet one like that Wilkins in the high school drawing a picture of Venus with all his belongings on show. Call that innocence? Poor idiot! His wife has her work cut out for her. Never see them sit on a bench marked Wet Paint. Eyes all over them. Look under the bed for what's not there. Longing to get the fright of their lives. Sharp as needles they are. When I said to Molly the man at the corner of Cuffe street was goodlooking, thought she might like, twigged at once he had a false arm. Had, too. Where do they get that? Typist going up Roger Greene's stairs two at a time to show her understandings. Handed down from father to, mother to daughter, I mean. Bred in the bone. Milly for example drying her handkerchief on the mirror to save the ironing. Best place for an ad to catch a woman's eye on a mirror. And when I sent her for Molly's Paisley shawl to Prescott's by the way that ad I must, carrying home the change in her stocking! Clever little minx. I never told her. Neat way she carries parcels too. Attract men, small thing like that. Holding up her hand, shaking it, to let the blood flow back when it was red. Who did you learn that from? Nobody. Something the nurse taught me. O, don't they know! Three years old she was in front of Molly's dressingtable, just before we left Lombard street west. Me have a nice pace. Mullingar. Who knows? Ways of the world. Young student. Straight on her pins anyway not like the other. Still she was game. Lord, I am wet. Devil you are. Swell of her calf. Transparent stockings, stretched to breaking point. Not like that frump today. A. E. Rumpled stockings. Or the one in Grafton street. White. Wow! Beef to the heel.

A monkey puzzle rocket burst, spluttering in darting crackles. Zrads and zrads, zrads, zrads. And Cissy and Tommy and Jacky ran out to see and Edy after with the pushcar and then Gerty beyond the curve of the rocks. Will she? Watch! Watch! See! Looked round. She smelt an onion. Darling, I saw, your. I saw all.


Did me good all the same. Off colour after Kiernan's, Dignam's. For this relief much thanks. In Hamlet, that is. Lord! It was all things combined. Excitement. When she leaned back, felt an ache at the butt of my tongue. Your head it simply swirls. He's right. Might have made a worse fool of myself however. Instead of talking about nothing. Then I will tell you all. Still it was a kind of language between us. It couldn't be? No, Gerty they called her. Might be false name however like my name and the address Dolphin's barn a blind.

Her maiden name was Jemina Brown
And she lived with her mother in Irishtown.

Place made me think of that I suppose. All tarred with the same brush Wiping pens in their stockings. But the ball rolled down to her as if it understood. Every bullet has its billet. Course I never could throw anything straight at school. Crooked as a ram's horn. Sad however because it lasts only a few years till they settle down to potwalloping and papa's pants will soon fit Willy and fuller's earth for the baby when they hold him out to do ah ah. No soft job. Saves them. Keeps them out of harm's way. Nature. Washing child, washing corpse. Dignam. Children's hands always round them. Cocoanut skulls, monkeys, not even closed at first, sour milk in their swaddles and tainted curds. Oughtn't to have given that child an empty teat to suck. Fill it up with wind. Mrs Beaufoy, Purefoy. Must call to the hospital. Wonder is nurse Callan there still. She used to look over some nights when Molly was in the Coffee Palace. That young doctor O'Hare I noticed her brushing his coat. And Mrs Breen and Mrs Dignam once like that too, marriageable. Worst of all at night Mrs Duggan told me in the City Arms. Husband rolling in drunk, stink of pub off him like a polecat. Have that in your nose in the dark, whiff of stale boose. Then ask in the morning: was I drunk last night? Bad policy however to fault the husband. Chickens come home to roost. They stick by one another like glue. Maybe the women's fault also. That's where Molly can knock spots off them. It's the blood of the south. Moorish. Also the form, the figure. Hands felt for the opulent. Just compare for instance those others. Wife locked up at home, skeleton in the cupboard. Allow me to introduce my. Then they trot you out some kind of a nondescript, wouldn't know what to call her. Always see a fellow's weak point in his wife. Still there's destiny in it, falling in love. Have their own secrets between them. Chaps that would go to the dogs if some woman didn't take them in hand. Then little chits of girls, height of a shilling in coppers, with little hubbies. As God made them he matched them. Sometimes children turn out well enough. Twice nought makes one. Or old rich chap of seventy and blushing bride. Marry in May and repent in December. This wet is very unpleasant. Stuck. Well the foreskin is not back. Better detach.


Other hand a sixfooter with a wifey up to his watchpocket. Long and the short of it. Big he and little she. Very strange about my watch. Wristwatches are always going wrong. Wonder is there any magnetic influence between the person because that was about the time he. Yes, I suppose, at once. Cat's away, the mice will play. I remember looking in Pill lane. Also that now is magnetism. Back of everything magnetism. Earth for instance pulling this and being pulled. That causes movement. And time, well that's the time the movement takes. Then if one thing stopped the whole ghesabo would stop bit by bit. Because it's all arranged. Magnetic needle tells you what's going on in the sun, the stars. Little piece of steel iron. When you hold out the fork. Come. Come. Tip. Woman and man that is. Fork and steel. Molly, he. Dress up and look and suggest and let you see and see more and defy you if you're a man to see that and, like a sneeze coming, legs, look, look and if you have any guts in you. Tip. Have to let fly.

Wonder how is she feeling in that region. Shame all put on before third person. More put out about a hole in her stocking. Molly, her underjaw stuck out, head back, about the farmer in the ridingboots and spurs at the horse show. And when the painters were in Lombard street west. Fine voice that fellow had. How Giuglini began. Smell that I did. Like flowers. It was too. Violets. Came from the turpentine probably in the paint. Make their own use of everything. Same time doing it scraped her slipper on the floor so they wouldn't hear. But lots of them can't kick the beam, I think. Keep that thing up for hours. Kind of a general all round over me and half down my back.

Wait. Hm. Hm. Yes. That's her perfume. Why she waved her hand. I leave you this to think of me when I'm far away on the pillow. What is it? Heliotrope? No. Hyacinth? Hm. Roses, I think. She'd like scent of that kind. Sweet and cheap: soon sour. Why Molly likes opoponax. Suits her, with a little jessamine mixed. Her high notes and her low notes. At the dance night she met him, dance of the hours. Heat brought it out. She was wearing her black and it had the perfume of the time before. Good conductor, is it? Or bad? Light too. Suppose there's some connection. For instance if you go into a cellar where it's dark. Mysterious thing too. Why did I smell it only now? Took its time in coming like herself, slow but sure. Suppose it's ever so many millions of tiny grains blown across. Yes, it is. Because those spice islands, Cinghalese this morning, smell them leagues off. Tell you what it is. It's like a fine fine veil or web they have all over the skin, fine like what do you call it gossamer, and they're always spinning it out of them, fine as anything, like rainbow colours without knowing it. Clings to everything she takes off. Vamp of her stockings. Warm shoe. Stays. Drawers: little kick, taking them off. Byby till next time. Also the cat likes to sniff in her shift on the bed. Know her smell in a thousand. Bathwater too. Reminds me of strawberries and cream. Wonder where it is really. There or the armpits or under the neck. Because you get it out of all holes and corners. Hyacinth perfume made of oil of ether or something. Muskrat. Bag under their tails. One grain pour off odour for years. Dogs at each other behind. Good evening. Evening. How do you sniff? Hm. Hm. Very well, thank you. Animals go by that. Yes now, look at it that way. We're the same. Some women, instance, warn you off when they have their period. Come near. Then get a hogo you could hang your hat on. Like what? Potted herrings gone stale or. Boof! Please keep off the grass.

Perhaps they get a man smell off us. What though? Cigary gloves long John had on his desk the other day. Breath? What you eat and drink gives that. No. Mansmell, I mean. Must be connected with that because priests that are supposed to be are different. Women buzz round it like flies round treacle. Railed off the altar get on to it at any cost. The tree of forbidden priest. O, father, will you? Let me be the first to. That diffuses itself all through the body, permeates. Source of life. And it's extremely curious the smell. Celery sauce. Let me.

Mr Bloom inserted his nose. Hm. Into the. Hm. Opening of his waistcoat. Almonds or. No. Lemons it is. Ah no, that's the soap.

O by the by that lotion. I knew there was something on my mind. Never went back and the soap not paid. Dislike carrying bottles like that hag this morning. Hynes might have paid me that three shillings. I could mention Meagher's just to remind him. Still if he works that paragraph. Two and nine. Bad opinion of me he'll have. Call tomorrow. How much do I owe you? Three and nine? Two and nine, sir. Ah. Might stop him giving credit another time. Lose your customers that way. Pubs do. Fellows run up a bill on the slate and then slinking around the back streets into somewhere else.

Here's this nobleman passed before. Blown in from the bay. Just went as far as turn back. Always at home at dinnertime. Looks mangled out: had a good tuck in. Enjoying nature now. Grace after meals. After supper walk a mile. Sure he has a small bank balance somewhere, government sit. Walk after him now make him awkward like those newsboys me today. Still you learn something. See ourselves as others see us. So long as women don't mock what matter? That's the way to find out. Ask yourself who is he now. The Mystery Man on the Beach, prize titbit story by Mr Leopold Bloom. Payment at the rate of one guinea per column. And that fellow today at the graveside in the brown macintosh. Corns on his kismet however. Healthy perhaps absorb all the. Whistle brings rain they say. Must be some somewhere. Salt in the Ormond damp. The body feels the atmosphere. Old Betty's joints are on the rack. Mother Shipton's prophecy that is about ships around they fly in the twinkling. No. Signs of rain it is. The royal reader. And distant hills seem coming nigh.

Howth. Bailey light. Two, four, six, eight, nine. See. Has to change or they might think it a house. Wreckers. Grace Darling. People afraid of the dark. Also glowworms, cyclists: lightingup time. Jewels diamonds flash better. Women. Light is a kind of reassuring. Not going to hurt you. Better now of course than long ago. Country roads. Run you through the small guts for nothing. Still two types there are you bob against. Scowl or smile. Pardon! Not at all. Best time to spray plants too in the shade after the sun. Some light still. Red rays are longest. Roygbiv Vance taught us: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet. A star I see. Venus? Can't tell yet. Two. When three it's night. Were those nightclouds there all the time? Looks like a phantom ship. No. Wait. Trees are they? An optical illusion. Mirage. Land of the setting sun this. Homerule sun setting in the southeast. My native land, goodnight.

Dew falling. Bad for you, dear, to sit on that stone. Brings on white fluxions. Never have little baby then less he was big strong fight his way up through. Might get piles myself. Sticks too like a summer cold, sore on the mouth. Cut with grass or paper worst. Friction of the position. Like to be that rock she sat on. O sweet little, you don't know how nice you looked. I begin to like them at that age. Green apples. Grab at all that offer. Suppose it's the only time we cross legs, seated. Also the library today: those girl graduates. Happy chairs under them. But it's the evening influence. They feel all that. Open like flowers, know their hours, sunflowers, Jerusalem artichokes, in ballrooms, chandeliers, avenues under the lamps. Nightstock in Mat Dillon's garden where I kissed her shoulder. Wish I had a full length oilpainting of her then. June that was too I wooed. The year returns. History repeats itself. Ye crags and peaks I'm with you once again. Life, love, voyage round your own little world. And now? Sad about her lame of course but must be on your guard not to feel too much pity. They take advantage.

All quiet on Howth now. The distant hills seem. Where we. The rhododendrons. I am a fool perhaps. He gets the plums, and I the plumstones. Where I come in. All that old hill has seen. Names change: that's all. Lovers: yum yum.

Tired I feel now. Will I get up? O wait. Drained all the manhood out of me, little wretch. She kissed me. Never again. My youth. Only once it comes. Or hers. Take the train there tomorrow. No. Returning not the same. Like kids your second visit to a house. The new I want. Nothing new under the sun. Care of P. O. Dolphin's Barn. Are you not happy in your? Naughty darling. At Dolphin's barn charades in Luke Doyle's house. Mat Dillon and his bevy of daughters: Tiny, Atty, Floey, Maimy, Louy, Hetty. Molly too. Eightyseven that was. Year before we. And the old major, partial to his drop of spirits. Curious she an only child, I an only child. So it returns. Think you're escaping and run into yourself. Longest way round is the shortest way home. And just when he and she. Circus horse walking in a ring. Rip van Winkle we played. Rip: tear in Henny Doyle's overcoat. Van: breadvan delivering. Winkle: cockles and periwinkles. Then I did Rip van Winkle coming back. She leaned on the sideboard watching. Moorish eyes. Twenty years asleep in Sleepy Hollow. All changed. Forgotten. The young are old. His gun rusty from the dew.

Ba. What is that flying about? Swallow? Bat probably. Thinks I'm a tree, so blind. Have birds no smell? Metempsychosis. They believed you could be changed into a tree from grief. Weeping willow. Ba. There he goes. Funny little beggar. Wonder where he lives. Belfry up there. Very likely. Hanging by his heels in the odour of sanctity. Bell scared him out, I suppose. Mass seems to be over. Could hear them all at it. Pray for us. And pray for us. And pray for us. Good idea the repetition. Same thing with ads. Buy from us. And buy from us. Yes, there's the light in the priest's house. Their frugal meal. Remember about the mistake in the valuation when I was in Thom's. Twentyeight it is. Two houses they have. Gabriel Conroy's brother is curate. Ba. Again. Wonder why they come out at night like mice. They're a mixed breed. Birds are like hopping mice. What frightens them, light or noise? Better sit still. All instinct like the bird in drouth got water out of the end of a jar by throwing in pebbles. Like a little man in a cloak he is with tiny hands. Weeny bones. Almost see them shimmering, kind of a bluey white. Colours depend on the light you see. Stare the sun for example like the eagle then look at a shoe see a blotch blob yellowish. Wants to stamp his trademark on everything. Instance, that cat this morning on the staircase. Colour of brown turf. Say you never see them with three colours. Not true. That half tabbywhite tortoiseshell in the City Arms with the letter em on her forehead. Body fifty different colours. Howth a while ago amethyst. Glass flashing. That's how that wise man what's his name with the burning glass. Then the heather goes on fire. It can't be tourists' matches. What? Perhaps the sticks dry rub together in the wind and light. Or broken bottles in the furze act as a burning glass in the sun. Archimedes. I have it! My memory's not so bad.

Ba. Who knows what they're always flying for. Insects? That bee last week got into the room playing with his shadow on the ceiling. Might be the one bit me, come back to see. Birds too. Never find out. Or what they say. Like our small talk. And says she and says he. Nerve they have to fly over the ocean and back. Lots must be killed in storms, telegraph wires. Dreadful life sailors have too. Big brutes of oceangoing steamers floundering along in the dark, lowing out like seacows. Faugh a Ballagh! Out of that, bloody curse to you! Others in vessels, bit of a handkerchief sail, pitched about like snuff at a wake when the stormy winds do blow. Married too. Sometimes away for years at the ends of the earth somewhere. No ends really because it's round. Wife in every port they say. She has a good job if she minds it till Johnny comes marching home again. If ever he does. Smelling the tail end of ports. How can they like the sea? Yet they do. The anchor's weighed. Off he sails with a scapular or a medal on him for luck. Well. And the tephilim no what's this they call it poor papa's father had on his door to touch. That brought us out of the land of Egypt and into the house of bondage. Something in all those superstitions because when you go out never know what dangers. Hanging on to a plank or astride of a beam for grim life, lifebelt round him, gulping salt water, and that's the last of his nibs till the sharks catch hold of him. Do fish ever get seasick?

Then you have a beautiful calm without a cloud, smooth sea, placid, crew and cargo in smithereens, Davy Jones' locker, moon looking down so peaceful. Not my fault, old cockalorum.

A last lonely candle wandered up the sky from Mirus bazaar in search of funds for Mercer's hospital and broke, drooping, and shed a cluster of violet but one white stars. They floated, fell: they faded. The shepherd's hour: the hour of folding: hour of tryst. From house to house, giving his everwelcome double knock, went the nine o'clock postman, the glowworm's lamp at his belt gleaming here and there through the laurel hedges. And among the five young trees a hoisted lintstock lit the lamp at Leahy's terrace. By screens of lighted windows, by equal gardens a shrill voice went crying, wailing: Evening Telegraph, stop press edition! Result of the Gold Cup race! and from the door of Dignam's house a boy ran out and called. Twittering the bat flew here, flew there. Far out over the sands the coming surf crept, grey. Howth settled for slumber, tired of long days, of yumyum rhododendrons (he was old) and felt gladly the night breeze lift, ruffle his fell of ferns. He lay but opened a red eye unsleeping, deep and slowly breathing, slumberous but awake. And far on Kish bank the anchored lightship twinkled, winked at Mr Bloom.

Life those chaps out there must have, stuck in the same spot. Irish Lights board. Penance for their sins. Coastguards too. Rocket and breeches buoy and lifeboat. Day we went out for the pleasure cruise in the Erin's King, throwing them the sack of old papers. Bears in the zoo. Filthy trip. Drunkards out to shake up their livers. Puking overboard to feed the herrings. Nausea. And the women, fear of God in their faces. Milly, no sign of funk. Her blue scarf loose, laughing. Don't know what death is at that age. And then their stomachs clean. But being lost they fear. When we hid behind the tree at Crumlin. I didn't want to. Mamma! Mamma! Babes in the wood. Frightening them with masks too. Throwing them up in the air to catch them. I'll murder you. Is it only half fun? Or children playing battle. Whole earnest. How can people aim guns at each other. Sometimes they go off. Poor kids! Only troubles wildfire and nettlerash. Calomel purge I got her for that. After getting better asleep with Molly. Very same teeth she has. What do they love? Another themselves? But the morning she chased her with the umbrella. Perhaps so as not to hurt. I felt her pulse. Ticking. Little hand it was: now big. Dearest Papli. All that the hand says when you touch. Loved to count my waistcoat buttons. Her first stays I remember. Made me laugh to see. Little paps to begin with. Left one is more sensitive, I think. Mine too. Nearer the heart? Padding themselves out if fat is in fashion. Her growing pains at night, calling, wakening me. Frightened she was when her nature came on her first. Poor child! Strange moment for the mother too. Brings back her girlhood. Gibraltar. Looking from Buena Vista. O'Hara's tower. The seabirds screaming. Old Barbary ape that gobbled all his family. Sundown, gunfire for the men to cross the lines. Looking out over the sea she told me. Evening like this, but clear, no clouds. I always thought I'd marry a lord or a rich gentleman coming with a private yacht. Buenas noches, señorita. El hombre ama la muchacha hermosa. Why me? Because you were so foreign from the others.

Better not stick here all night like a limpet. This weather makes you dull. Must be getting on for nine by the light. Go home. Too late for Leah, Lily of Killarney. No. Might be still up. Call to the hospital to see. Hope she's over. Long day I've had. Martha, the bath, funeral, house of Keyes, museum with those goddesses, Dedalus' song. Then that bawler in Barney Kiernan's. Got my own back there. Drunken ranters what I said about his God made him wince. Mistake to hit back. Or? No. Ought to go home and laugh at themselves. Always want to be swilling in company. Afraid to be alone like a child of two. Suppose he hit me. Look at it other way round. Not so bad then. Perhaps not to hurt he meant. Three cheers for Israel. Three cheers for the sister-in-law he hawked about, three fangs in her mouth. Same style of beauty. Particularly nice old party for a cup of tea. The sister of the wife of the wild man of Borneo has just come to town. Imagine that in the early morning at close range. Everyone to his taste as Morris said when he kissed the cow. But Dignam's put the boots on it. Houses of mourning so depressing because you never know. Anyhow she wants the money. Must call to those Scottish Widows as I promised. Strange name. Takes it for granted we're going to pop off first. That widow on Monday was it outside Cramer's that looked at me. Buried the poor husband but progressing favourably on the premium. Her widow's mite. Well? What do you expect her to do? Must wheedle her way along. Widower I hate to see. Looks so forlorn. Poor man O'Connor wife and five children poisoned by mussels here. The sewage. Hopeless. Some good matronly woman in a porkpie hat to mother him. Take him in tow, platter face and a large apron. Ladies' grey flannelette bloomers, three shillings a pair, astonishing bargain. Plain and loved, loved for ever, they say. Ugly: no woman thinks she is. Love, lie and be handsome for tomorrow we die. See him sometimes walking about trying to find out who played the trick. U. p: up. Fate that is. He, not me. Also a shop often noticed. Curse seems to dog it. Dreamt last night? Wait. Something confused. She had red slippers on. Turkish. Wore the breeches. Suppose she does? Would I like her in pyjamas? Damned hard to answer. Nannetti's gone. Mailboat. Near Holyhead by now. Must nail that ad of Keyes's. Work Hynes and Crawford. Petticoats for Molly. She has something to put in them. What's that? Might be money.

Mr Bloom stooped and turned over a piece of paper on the strand. He brought it near his eyes and peered. Letter? No. Can't read. Better go. Better. I'm tired to move. Page of an old copybook. All those holes and pebbles. Who could count them? Never know what you find. Bottle with story of a treasure in it, thrown from a wreck. Parcels post. Children always want to throw things in the sea. Trust? Bread cast on the waters. What's this? Bit of stick.

O! Exhausted that female has me. Not so young now. Will she come here tomorrow? Wait for her somewhere for ever. Must come back. Murderers do. Will I?

Mr Bloom with his stick gently vexed the thick sand at his foot. Write a message for her. Might remain. What?


Some flatfoot tramp on it in the morning. Useless. Washed away. Tide comes here. Saw a pool near her foot. Bend, see my face there, dark mirror, breathe on it, stirs. All these rocks with lines and scars and letters. O, those transparent! Besides they don't know. What is the meaning of that other world. I called you naughty boy because I do not like.

AM. A.

No room. Let it go.

Mr Bloom effaced the letters with his slow boot. Hopeless thing sand. Nothing grows in it. All fades. No fear of big vessels coming up here. Except Guinness's barges. Round the Kish in eighty days. Done half by design.

He flung his wooden pen away. The stick fell in silted sand, stuck. Now if you were trying to do that for a week on end you couldn't. Chance. We'll never meet again. But it was lovely. Goodbye, dear. Thanks. Made me feel so young.

Short snooze now if I had. Must be near nine. Liverpool boat long gone.. Not even the smoke. And she can do the other. Did too. And Belfast. I won't go. Race there, race back to Ennis. Let him. Just close my eyes a moment. Won't sleep, though. Half dream. It never comes the same. Bat again. No harm in him. Just a few.

O sweety all your little girlwhite up I saw dirty bracegirdle made me do love sticky we two naughty Grace darling she him half past the bed met him pike hoses frillies for Raoul de perfume your wife black hair heave under embon señorita young eyes Mulvey plump bubs me breadvan Winkle red slippers she rusty sleep wander years of dreams return tail end Agendath swoony lovey showed me her next year in drawers return next in her next her next.

A bat flew. Here. There. Here. Far in the grey a bell chimed. Mr Bloom with open mouth, his left boot sanded sideways, leaned, breathed. Just for a few


The clock on the mantelpiece in the priest's house cooed where Canon O'Hanlon and Father Conroy and the reverend John Hughes S. J. were taking tea and sodabread and butter and fried mutton chops with catsup and talking about


Because it was a little canarybird that came out of its little house to tell the time that Gerty MacDowell noticed the time she was there because she was as quick as anything about a thing like that, was Gerty MacDowell, and she noticed at once that that foreign gentleman that was sitting on the rocks looking was


[Read @ Wikisource or listen @, MP3 files 18 and 19.]

An extract from the CIRCE episode:

(Leering, Gerty MacDowell limps forward. She draws from behind, ogling, and shows coyly her bloodied clout.)


With all my worldly goods I thee and thou. (She murmurs.) You did that. I hate you.


I? When? You're dreaming. I never saw you.


Leave the gentleman alone, you cheat. Writing the gentleman false letters. Streetwalking and soliciting. Better for your mother take the strap to you at the bedpost, hussy like you.


(To Bloom.) When you saw all the secrets of my bottom drawer. (She paws his sleeve, slobbering.) Dirty married man! I love you for doing that to me.

(She glides away crookedly. […])

James Joyce (1882-1941)

The Little Review 1918

Joycen Ulysses alkoi ilmestyä maaliskuussa 1918 amerikkalaisessa aikakauslehdessä The Little Review. Yhtenä niteenä teoksen julkaisi vuonna 1922 Pariisissa Sylvia Beachin kirjakauppa-kustantamo Shakespeare & Co.

Taiteilijan omakuva nuoruuden vuosilta (A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, 1916)

Alkuteoksen nimi on A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man – siis Portrait eikä Self-Portrait, – mutta alkukielen artikkeleista voidaan päätellä, että kyseessä on tietty taiteilija, the artist eikä an artist, ja tämä oikeastaan oikeuttaa suomennoksissa käytetyn sanan "omakuva". Kysymys onkin eräänlaisesta Joycen fiktiivisestä omaelämäkerrallisesta romaanista eli taiteellisesti etäännytetystä omakuvasta.

Taiteilijan nimi on Stephen Dedalus. Nimi yhdistää toisiinsa kristikunnan historiaa ja kreikkalaista mytologiaa, siis Pyhän Stefanoksen ja myytin taiteilija-Daidaloksen hahmon. Kyseessä on siis sama henkilö joka myöhemmin seikkailee romaanissa Ulysses (Odysseus).

Taiteilijan omakuvan voikin lukea tavallaan johdantona Odysseukseen, jonka alussa on kulunut muutama vuosi siitä kun Stephen Dedalus lähtee Irlannista Pariisiin, mitä hän vasta suunnittelee tuon "omakuvan" tai "muotokuvan" lopussa, ja on sitten palannut takaisin Dubliniin.

Taiteilijan omakuva tapahtuu kokonaisuudessaan Irlannissa, kuten Odysseus jonka tapahtumat sijoittuvat yhteen kesäkuun päivään Dublinissa. Taiteilijan omakuva kattaa toki paljon pidemmän ajanjakson: romaanin fokuksessa on Stephen, jonka varttumista seurataan, samalla kun hänen muotokuvansa hahmotellaan persoonattoman kertojan välityksellä. Tarina (ja varsin suoraviivaisen kronologisesti etenevä kerronta) alkaa Stephenin varhaisesta lapsuudesta ja päättyy muutamaan päiväkirjamerkintään. Kerronta ja kieli tavallaan seuraavat päähenkilön kehitystä aivan vaippaikäisestä nuoreksi mieheksi, mutta lopun päiväkirjamerkintöjä lukuunottamatta tämä kaikki tapahtuu yksikön kolmannessa persoonassa. Romaani alkaa seuraavasti:

Oli kerran ja oikein hyvä kerta olikin ammuu joka tuli tietä pitkin ja se ammuu joka tuli tietä pitkin tapasi pienen pojan jonka nimi oli nappula…

Isä kertoi hänelle tuon sadun: isä katseli häntä lasin lävitse: isällä oli karvaiset kasvot. Hän itse oli nappula. Tie jota pitkin ammuu tuli oli se missä Betty Byrne asui: häneltä sai ostaa sitruunamakeisia.

Oi villiruusu kukkii vihreellä kentällä.

Tuon laulun hän osasi laulaa. Se oli hänen laulunsa.

Oi villiluutu kukkii

Kun kastelee vuoteensa se on ensin lämmin ja sitten se on kylmä. Äiti pani alle öljykankaan. Sepä haisi kummalta.

Äiti haisi paremmalta kuin isä.

(Suom. Alex Matson.)

Kirja päättyy lähdön tunnelmissa, taiteellisen luomistyön paradokseja pohtien (sillä kysymys on samaan aikaan kokemuksen todellisuuteen kohtaamisesta miljoonatta kertaa ja vielä luomatta olevan tietoisuuden pakottamisesta muotoon sielun sepänpajassa), sekä vielä pieneen ironiseen rukoukseen:

Huhtikuun 16. Pois! pois!

Käsivarsien ja äänien taikavoima: maanteiden valkoiset käsivarret, jotka lupaavat kiinteätä syleilyä, ja suurten laivojen korkeat mustat käsivarret kuuta vasten, niiden tarinat kaukaisista maista. Ne ojentautuvat sanoakseen: Olemme yksin — tule. Ja äänet puhuvat samoin: Olemme sinun heimoasi. Ja ilma on sakeana niiden liittolaisia, jotka kutsuvat minua, sukulaistaan, lähtöön valmistautuvaa, ja räpyttelevät riemuitsevan ja uhmakkaan nuoruutensa siipiä.

Huhtikuun 26. Äiti laittaa kuntoon toiseksi parasta pukuani [sic: alkut. my new secondhand clothes]. Hän rukoilee nyt, omien sanojensa mukaan, että oppisin omassa elämässäni ja kaukana kodistani ja ystävistäni, mitä sydän on ja mitä se tuntee. Amen. Olkoon niin. Terve, elämä! Lähden kohtaamaan miljoonatta kertaa kokemuksen todellisuutta ja takomaan sieluni pajassa kansani vielä luomattoman omantunnon.

Huhtikuun 27. Muinainen isä, vanha kunnon taiteilija, pysy nyt ja aina tukenani.

(Suom. Alex Matson.)

Muistamme, miten "moderneimman viktoriaanisen romaanin", Humisevan harjun Catherine totesi olevansa "sopimaton taivaaseen", ja muistamme miten Rouva Bovaryn eräässä "aidosti modernissa kohtauksessa" Emma ei saa apua kirkosta, "Jumalanäidiltä itseltään". Taiteilijan omakuvassa nuoruuden vuosilta on ensinnäkin pitkä jakso, eräänlainen käännekohta, jossa pappi kuvailee saarnassaan katolisen sisäoppilaitoksen pojille helvettiä ja sen kärsimyksiä, ensin ruumiillisia ja sitten henkisiä kärsimyksiä. Useita sivuja ja vuosia myöhemmin katolisen uskonsa hylännyt, nuo helvetin kuvaukset hyvin voimakkaasti ja henkilökohtaisesti sitä ennen kokenut nuori Stephen keskustelee ystävänsä Cranlyn kanssa seuraavasti:

Heidän sydämensä, jotka olivat viime aikoina vieraantuneet toisistaan, tuntuivat äkkiä taas päässeen lähemmäksi toisiaan.

– Uskotko Herran ehtoolliseen? Cranly kysyi.

– En, sanoi Stephen.

– Pidätkö sitä sitten valheena?

– En usko siihen enkä pidä sitä valheenakaan, vastasi Stephen.

– Monilla ihmisillä on epäilyksensä, vieläpä uskonnollisillakin ihmisillä, ja kuitenkin he voittavat ne tai sysäävät ne syrjään, Cranly sanoi. – Ovatko epäilyksesi liian vahvat?

– En halua voittaa niitä, Stephen vastasi.

Peittääkseen hetkellisen vaivautuneisuuden Cranly otti taskustaan viikunan ja aikoi juuri panna sen suuhunsa, kun Stephen sanoi:

– Anna olla, pyydän. Et voi keskustella näistä asioista suu täynnä viikunaa.

Cranly tutki viikunaansa katulyhdyn valossa, pysähtyen varta vasten lyhdyn alle. Sitten hän haisteli sitä molemmilla sieraimillaan, puri siitä pienen syrjän, sylkäisi sen suustaan ja heitti viikunan katuojaan. Kohdistaen sanansa maassa makaavalle viikunalle hän julisti:

– Mene pois luotan, kirottu, helvetin tuleen!

Tarttuen Stephenin käsivarteen hän lähti taas astelemaan eteenpäin ja sanoi:

– Etkö pelkää, että nuo sanat lausutaan sinulle tuomiopäivänä?

– Mitä minulle sitten toiselta puolelta tarjotaan? kysyi Stephen. – Ikuista autuutta dekaanin seurassa?

(Suom. Alex Matson.)

Voimme tietenkin ounastella että tämä uskonkriisi joka kohtaa nuorta Dedalusta ei ole pelkästään henkilökohtainen käännekohta vaan "modernisuuden" piirre johon olemme jo törmänneetkin, Baudelairen poimiessa Flaubertin Rouva Bovarysta erityisen "modernin" kohtauksen jossa Emma ei saa hakemaansa vastakaikua kirkon helmasta, ja vaikkapa Humisevan harjun Catherinen kertomassa unessa josta siirryimme Taiteilijan omakuvaan, mutta tämä kääntymys maallisuuteen on toki vanhempaa perua ja palaa kirjallisuudessa aina uudelleen pintaan, erityisen selkeästi tietyissä 1700-luvun romaaneissa, kuten vaikkapa Abbé Prévostin Manon Lescaut.

Odysseus (Ulysses, 1922)

Virginia Woolf on kertonut T.S. Eliotin sanoneen, että James Joycen Odysseus "tuhosi 1800-luvun". Meidän ei tarvitse spekuloida kovinkaan villisti arvataksemme että Eliot viittaa tällä kärjistyksellään nimenomaan, tai ennen kaikkea 1800-luvun romaanitaiteeseen, romanttis-realistiseen kerronnan perinteeseen.

Ulysses alkoi ilmestyä jatkokertomuksena 1918 ja julkaistiin sitten kokonaisuudessaan 1922. Stuart Gilbert toteaa joidenkin aikalaiskriitikkojen pitäneen kirjaa ensi alkuun suorastaan "väkivaltaisen romanttisena" teoksena, "alitajuisen mielen hallitsemattomana purkauksena joka on voimakas mutta muodoton [a violently romantic work, an uncontrolled outpouring of the subconscious mind, powerful but formless]". Kuten olemme aiemmin jo todenneet ja voimme vaikkapa Oi runous -kirjan sisältämistä esseistä lukea, romantikot (kuten F. Schlegel, Novalis, Wordsworth, Poe, Baudelaire) eivät suinkaan itse nähneet omaa taidettaan "hallitsemattomana purkauksena". Tämä ei olekaan ainoastaan pinnallinen näkemys romantiikasta vaan ennen kaikkea Joycen taidetta koskeva karkea väärinkäsitys. Toisaalta on totta, että nimenomaan romantiikka ennakoi "alitajuisen mielen" vallankumouksellista murtautumista tajuntaamme tavalla josta ennen kaikkea Freud on kuuluisa ja jota hieman myöhemmin surrealistit jännittävällä tavalla taiteiden alalla hyödynsivät.

T. S. Eliotin kuuluisa arvostelu Joycen Odysseuksesta ilmestyi vuonna 1923, nimellä "Ulysses, Order, and Myth" eli "Odysseus, järjestys ja myytti". Eliotin kritiikki on oikeastaan ennen kaikkea kritiikin kritiikkiä ja kohdistuu erityisesti Richard Aldingtonin kritiikkiin. Eliot toteaa, että se mikä yhdistää häntä ja tätä tietyssä mielessä varauksellisesti Joycen eepokseen suhtautunutta Aldingtonia, on klassismin ihanne.

Eliot painottaa, ettei hän tarkoita tätä klassismia perinteiseen tapaan romantiikan vastakohtana, siten kuin konservatiivit ovat liberaalien tai republikaanit demokraattien vastakohta tai vastustaja, jonka nimissä on tarkoitus häätää vastapuoli näyttämöltä, vaan kaiken hyvän kirjallisuuden päämääränä. Tämä klassismi perustuu oikeastaan muodon ja aineksen perinteiseen vastakkainasetteluun. Kysymys on siitä, miten taiteilija käyttää ja muokkaa sitä materiaalia joka tarjoutuu hänen käyttöönsä, järjestää ainesta ja antaa sille paitsi hahmon myös merkityksen.

Eliotin mukaan kirjailijan materiaalia ovat esimerkiksi hänen omat tunteensa, jotka ovat yksinkertaisesti sitä ainesta joka tarjoutuu hänen käyttöönsä ja joka hänen täytyy käyttöönsä hyväksyä, eikä suinkaan hyveitä tai ansioita jotka hänen tulisi suurentaa tai paheita joita hänen tulisi pienentää. Joycea koskeva kysymys kuuluukin, Eliotin mukaan, kuinka paljon elävää materiaalia hänellä on käsiteltävänään ja miten hän sitä käsittelee, ei lainsäätäjänä tai saarnaajana vaan taiteilijana.

Eliotin mukaan tässä aineksen muokkaamista tai käsittelyä, hahmon antamista koskevassa kysymyksessä juuri sillä, miten Joyce käyttää Homeroksen Odysseiaa, on keskeinen merkitys. "It has the importance of a scientific discovery", hän kirjoittaa. "No one else has built a novel on such a foundation before: it has never before been necessary."

Itse asiassa Eliot heti kiistää, että kyseessä on romaani: hänen mukaansa Joyce on kirjoittanut yhden romaanin, joka on Taiteilijan omakuva…, eikä hän tulisi enää kirjoittamaan toista. Romaanin aikakausi päättyi Flaubertin ja Henry Jamesin myötä, hän väittää. Hänen mukaansa Odysseusta voi kutsua vaikka eepokseksi, ei sillä niin väliä, kunhan ei erehdy luulemaan sitä romaaniksi.

Mahdollista on, että Eliot oli kuullut Joycen itsensä kieltäytyvän kutsumasta Odysseusta romaaniksi. Joyce itse kutsui sitä, epäilemättä kieli poskessa, ensyklopediaksi. Mutta Eliot perustelee seuraavasti homeerisen eepoksen tai myytin käyttöä esikuvana:

In using the myth, in manipulating a continuous parallel between contemporaneity and antiquity, Mr. Joyce is pursuing a method which others must pursue after him. They will not be imitators, any more than the scientist who uses the discoveries of an Einstein in pursuing his own, independent, further investigations. It is simply a way of controlling, of ordering, of giving a shape and a signficance to the immense panorama of futility and anarchy which is contemporary history. [. . .] Instead of narrative method, we may now use the mythical method. It is, I seriously believe, a step toward making the modern world possible in art. (Selected Prose of T.S. Eliot, ed. Frank Kermode, London: Faber and Faber, 1975, pp. 177-8.)

Eliot myös puolustaa Joycen vaikeatajuisuutta tai ehkä pitäisi sanoa, sanan neutraalissa tai positiivisessa mielessä, elitismiä ja toisaalta taiteellista vapautta seuraavasti, tavalla joka aluksi muistuttaa Taiteilijan omakuvan loppua, tuon romaanin (joka siis merkitsi Joycen jäähyväisiä romaanimuodolle) toiseksi viimeistä päiväkirjamerkintää:

The next generation is responsible for its own soul; a man of genius is responsible to his peers, not to a studio full of uneducated and undisciplined cox-combs. Still, Mr. Aldington’s pathetic solicitude for the half-witted seems to me to carry certain implications about the nature of the book itself to which I cannot assent; and this is the important issue. He finds the book, if I understand him, to be an invitation to chaos, and an expression of feelings which are perverse, partial, and a distortion of reality. (176)

Miksi Joycen kirja tai eepos tai ensyklopedia tai ainakin epäromaani Odysseus sitten vaikuttaa muodottomalta? Ensinnäkin Eliot arvelee, että Joycea kenties vaivasi tietoinen tai tiedostamaton tyytymättömyys muotoon — siis käytännössä siihen muotoon, jonka romaani oli kirjallisuuden lajina saanut — ja tämän takia hänen romaaninsa (tässä Eliot tosiaankin käyttää termiä romaani, tarkoittaen Taiteilijan omakuvaa) vaikuttaa muodottomammalta kuin niiden tusinan nokkelan kirjailijan jotka ovat itse asiassa tietämättömiä siitä, miten romaanin muoto on nyt 1900-luvulle tultua auttamattomasti vanhentunut.

Tämän Eliot toteaa juuri ennen kuin hän puhuu myytin käyttämisestä jatkuvan paralleelin eli vastaavuuden luomiseksi nykyisyyden ja antiikin välille, menetelmänä joka mahdollistaa hallinnan, järjestämisen, hahmottamisen ja merkityksen luomisen sille valtavalle turhuuden ja anarkian panoraamalle jollainen luonnehtii nykyhetkeä tai nykyhistoriaa: "It is simply a way of controlling, of ordering, of giving a shape and a significance to the immense panorama of futility and anarchy which is contemporary history." Tämän painotuksen vuoksi Eliot on varustanut kritiikkinsä otsikolla "Ulysses, Order, and Myth". Romaanin muoto on kuollut, eläköön myytin järjestys! (Sanat "myytti" ja "romaani" on tässä tietenkin käsitettävä toisin kuin Northrop Frye niitä käyttää: Fryelle myytti on jumaltarina, romanssi sankaritarina ja romaani tarina ihmisistä. Eliotin mukaan Ulysses ei enää ole romaani siinä mielessä kuin vaikkapa Flaubertin Rouva Bovary on romaani, ja myytillä Eliot tarkoittaa tosiaankin sitä tarinallista järjestysperiaatetta, jonka Joyce lainaa Homeroksen Odysseiasta.)

Pound on Joyce

Ezra Pound: "Bloomin päivä on siis sensuroimaton. Ulostenäytteen analyysi kulman takana sijaitsevassa sairaalassa on sensuroimaton. Ainoastaan presbyteriaanisen kirkon jäsen kiistäisi, että viimeksimainitun täsmällisyys on tarpeellista. Suuri kirjallinen mestariteos on tehty vakaville mielille, aivan yhtä vakaville kuin ovat lääketieteen harjoittajat." — "Ulysses", teoksessa Literary Essays of Ezra Pound, toim. T.S. Eliot (London: Faber and Faber, 1954), s. 403-409, tässä s. 408.

Myös Stephen Dedalusin myyttinen, kreikkalainen nimi viittaa taiteelliseen luomiseen joka on järjestyksen ja merkityksen antamista: Dedalus eli Daidaloshan oli Minoksen labyrintin rakentaja, toisaalta Ikaroksen isä. Daidalos on (metonymisesti: tekijän nimestä on tullut teoksen nimi, erisnimestä yleisnimi) on ainakin ranskassa antanut nimensä labyrintille, dédale, ja esimerkiksi tiettyjen sienien helttojen risteilevästä, sokkeloisesta rakenteesta käytetään englanninkielisessä terminologiassa adjektiivia dædaloid. Voimme siis oikeutetusti odottaa Stephenin hahmolta sekä taiteelliseen hallintaan että sokkeloisuuteen viittaavia piirteitä.

Stephen kokee olevansa ikään kuin sekä tämä arkkitehti- tai insinööri-isä Daidalos että liian lähelle aurinkoa lentävä ja isänsä valmistamat siivet siten turmeleva Ikaros-poika. Nämä molemmat piirteet kuuluvat hänen "omakuvaansa taiteilijana". Klassinen muotopuhtaus ja romanttinen yltiöpäisyys: täytyy nimittäin huomata että nuori Stephen ihailee yhtä romanttisen runouden perikuvaa hyvässä ja pahassa, Lordi Byronia. Toiseen romanttisen taiteen esikuvaan ja perikuvaan, William Blakeen, viitataan Joycen teoksissa toistuvasti.

Tätähän on alati toistettu tämän kurssin kuluessa: romantiikka on sekin hengen pakottamista aineeseen tai rönsyilevänkin ja vaikeasti hallittavan materiaalin pakottamista muotoon. Niinpä romantiikka ei sinänsä ole "modernille" tai modernismille tai peräti "klassismille" mitenkään perustavasti vierasta, ainakaan jos klassismi nähdään ylihistoriallisena taiteen mallina ja tavoitteena, kuten Eliot sen näkee. Eikä romantiikka ole myöskään Joycelle vierasta, sen enempää kuin klassinen muodollinen hallintakaan.

Richard Aldingtonin aikalaiskritiikki ei ole yksinkertaisesti kielteinen; hänen artikkelinsa "The Influence of Mr. James Joyce" ilmestyi lehdessä nimeltä English Reviewz huhtikuussa 1921 eli ennen Odysseuksen kokonaisjulkaisua kirjamuodossa.

I have not wandered from Mr. Joyce. His influence, which I dare to prophesy will be considerable, cannot be a wholly good one. He is disgusting with a reason; others will be disgusting without reason. He is obscure and justifies his obscurity; but how many others will write mere confusion and think it sublime? How many dire absurdities will be brought forth, with Ulysses as midwife? Mr. Joyce himself is little influenced by his contemporaries, though he is obviously steeped in Church writers, the classics and French literature. He has read the Russians perhaps more than is good for him. But he is not one of those superficial people who pick up some shallow artifice as the canon of a new form of art; he will be the prey of coteries, but he himself is far above them. [...] The young writer should not neglect his contemporaries, but his chief companions ought to be the classics. Ulysses is dangerous reading for anyone whose style is unformed. If I had a younger friend who wanted to write, and would accept my advice, I would conceal from him the works of Mr. Joyce and set him on Pascal and Voltaire, with Mr. George Moore and Flaubert as light reading. And when he knew the value of clarity, sobriety, precision—the good manners of literature—I would hand him Mr. Joyce's books with the highest eulogy and little fear of the consequences.

(Richard Aldington, "The Influence of Mr. James Joyce", in Robert H. Deming, ed., Joyce — The Critical Heritage, Vol I: 1907-1927 London: Routledge, 1970, 186-189; tässä ote jonka luin luennolla, sivuilta 188-189.)

Toinen mielenkiintoinen vertaissarviointi Odysseuksesta on George Bernard Shawn’n käsialaa, hänen kirjeessään Sylvia Beachille, joka on päivätty kesäkuussa 1921:

Dear Madam,

I have read several fragments of Ulysses in its serial form. It is a revolting record of a disgusting phase of civilisation; but it is a truthful one; and I should like to put a cordon round Dublin; round up every male person in it between the ages of 15 and 30; force them to read it; and ask them whether on reflection they could see anything amusing in all that foul mouthed, foul minded derision and obscenity. To you, possibly, it may appeal as art: you are probably (you see I don't know you) a young barbarian beglamoured by the excitements and enthusiasms that art stirs up in passionate material; but to me it is all hideously real: I have walked those streets and know those shops and have heard and taken part in those conversations. I escaped from them to England at the age of twenty; and forty years later have learn from the books of Mr. Joyce that Dublin is still what it was, and young men are still drivelling in slackjawed blackguardism just as they were in 1870. It is, however, some consolation to find that at last somebody has felt deeply enough about it to face the horror of writing it all down and using his literary genius to force people to face it. In Ireland they try to make a cat cleanly by rubbing its nose in its own filth. Mr. Joyce has tried the same treatment on the human subject. I hope it may prove successful.

I am aware that there are other qualities and other passages in Ulysses; but they do not call for any special comment from me.

I must add, as the prospectus implies an invitation to purchase, that I am an elderly Irish gentleman, and that if you imagine that any Irishman, much less an elderly one, would pay 150 francs for a book, you little know my countrymen.

(G. B. Shaw, kirje Sylvia Beachille teoksessa Joyce — The Critical Heritage, s. 189-190.)

Aldingtonin kritiikin kärki on siis siinä, että Odysseus on kylläkin mestariteos, mutta ei sovellu nuoren kirjailijanalun luettavaksi; Shaw’n mielestä Odysseus on puolestaan liian totuudenmukainen.

Samasuuntaisia lausuntoja voi lukea aikalaiskritiikeistä muutenkin:

It is a mirror held up to life, which we could sincerely wish and devoutly pray that we were spared. (Joseph Collins, James Joyce’s Amazing Chronicle, The New York Times, May 28, 1922.

Myös tuo Collinsin kritiikki päättyy vastahakoiseen tunnustukseen, jonka mukaan "sadan vuoden päästä Stephen Dedalus pariisilaisessa itsevarmuudessaan … näyttelee edelleen välinpitämätöntä Odysseuksesta julkaistavaa ylistävää tutkielmaa kohtaan, mutta aivan yhtä varmasti kuin Dostojevski ja suuremmalla varmuudella kuin Mallarmé, hän tulee saamaan sellaisen osakseen."

Shaw to Pound 20 Mar. 1922

Postikortti G. B. Shaw’lta Ezra Poundille 20.3.1922, jossa on kuva Riberan Kristus-aiheisesta maalauksesta ja käsinkirjoitettu teksti: Miss Shakespeare consoling James Joyce, who has fainted on hearing of the refusal of his countryman to subscribe for Ulysses. Isn't it like him? Miss Shakespeare viitannee Shakespeare & Company -kirjakaupan kauppias Sylvia Beachiin.

Entä onko Joycen moderni sanataide elitististä? "I hate stupid crowds," toteaa Leopold Bloom itselleen (Ulysses, London: The Bodley Head, 1958, 427). Tämä Bloomin lause saattaa lukijan mielestä kuvata James Joycen romaania, epäromaania, eeposta tai "ensyklopediaa" kokonaisuudessaan. Ulysses, Odysseus, on epäilemättä "elitistinen" taideteos.

Mutta mitä tarkoittaa tämä elitismi? Sanat eliitti ja elitismi johtuvat latinan verbistä eligere, "valita". Jokainen kirja valitsee, valikoi lukijansa tavalla tai toisella, myös helppolukuinen viihde jonka on tarkoitus miellyttää mahdollisimman laajaa lukijakuntaa suurten myyntilukujen toivossa, ennakoi lukijan mieltymyksiä. On kuitenkin vaikea kuvitella teosta joka miellyttäisi kaikkia, jokaista lukijaa. Miten Joycen Odysseus sitten valikoi lukijansa?

Joycen kerrotaan sanoneen, että Odysseus (Finnegans Wake’sta puhumattakaan) tulee työllistämään monta sukupolvea kirjallisuudentutkijoita. Tuo työllistävä vaikutus ei kuitenkaan tarkoita, että teos on tarkoituksella hermeettinen tai luoksepääsemätön, vaan että sen avautuminen nimenomaan vaatii työtä ja viitseliäisyyttä.

I've put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that's the only way of insuring one's immortality. (Joycen lausetta lainaa Richard Ellman teoksessaan James Joyce ja Wikikirjat epigrafina sivustoon Annotations to James Joyce's Ulysses, jota lämpimästi suosittelen.)

Niinpä Joyce itse oli varsin yhteistyöhaluinen kun muuan tutkija, Stuart Gilbert, otti häneen yhteyttä jo 1920-luvulla (kuten sanottu, Ulysses oli ilmestynyt kokonaisuudessaan 1922) kysyäkseen moninaisia seikkoja koskien sekä teoksen yksityiskohtia että kokonaisrakennetta koskevia periaatteita. Epäilemättä Gilbert oli yksi ensimmäisistä jotka ylipäänsä osasivat esittää kirjailijalle oikeita kysymyksiä.

Kerron hetken päästä hieman enemmän tästä tutkijan ja kirjailijan yhteistyöstä ja menen sitten itse Odysseuksen yksityiskohtiin, joita minun nähdäkseni luonnehtii toisaalta kaiken näennäisen kaoottisuuden ja toisaalta taidokkaan sommittelun takana (jos näin voi sanoa) tietty syvästi inhimillinen tragikoomisuus. Kysymys ei ole yksin tragediasta eikä yksin komediasta vaan tragikomediasta. "They think it funny. Anything but that." Näin Bloom sanoo paria sivua äsken lainaamaani otetta myöhemmin kuullessaan karkean jutun kadulla (s. 429). Mutta toki Joyce itse ihmetteli, miksei hänen kirjansa huumoria oikein ymmärretty.

Osa kriitikoista siis piti Joycen Odysseusta ensi alkuun kylläkin voimakkaana, mutta hallitsemattomana ja hahmottomana alitajuisen mielen purkauksena. Tämän vuoksi Stuart Gilbert katsoi välttämättömäksi korostaa kirjan, kuten hän sanoo, "'klassisia' ja muodollisia elementtejä, sen tarkoin suunniteltua rakennetta [carefully planned lay-out] ja sitä, miten tekijä on kiinnittänyt pikkutarkkaa huomiota yksityiskohtiin, kun jokaiselle lauseelle, jopa jokaiselle sanalle, on osoitettu oma paikkansa pointillistisella tarkkuudella [with pointilliste precision]" (James Joyce's Ulysses. A Study, 2nd ed., London: Faber and Faber, 1952, 12).

Stuart Gilbertin legendaarinen tutkielma Joycen Odysseuksesta ilmestyi ensimmäisen kerran jo vuonna 1930 (lainasin äsken vuonna 1950 kirjoitettua toisen painoksen esipuhetta), toisin sanoen vain kahdeksan vuotta romaanin kokonaisjulkaisun jälkeen, ja tutkija siis toimi tiiviissä vuorovaikutuksessa itse kirjailijan kanssa; hän antaa myös ymmärtää, että Joyce paitsi itse hyväksyi tämän kommentaarin ja kannusti Gilbertiä työssään, myös osittain vastasi tutkielman tulkinnallisesta sisällöstä. Gilbert itse kertoo kirjan syntyneen tavallaan käänöstyön sivutuotteena, hän nimittäin avusti herroja Morel ja Larbaud Ulyssesin kääntämisessä ranskankielelle ja tarvitsi tässä tehtävässä tutkittua ja yksityiskohtaista tietoa mm. romaanin lähteistä ("Preface", s. 9-13).

Tärkein näistä lähteistä on tietenkin Homeroksen Odysseia. Kuten Gilbert itse tuossa vuoden 1950 esipuheessaan toteaa, moni joka on jättänyt ensi lukemalta Joycen Odysseuksen kesken liian vaativana, on sitten kuitenkin lukenut hänen kommentaarinsa ja tämän jälkeen intoutunut uudestaan itse romaanin pariin, kyeten nyt siitä nauttimaan toden teolla ja lukemaan sen kokonaisuudessaan suhteellisen vaivattomasti. Keskeistä tässä on varmastikin, ensinnäkin, se tapa jolla Gilbert osoittaa Ulysses-romaanin nimettömien lukujen vastaavan aina tiettyä jaksoa Homeroksen eepoksessa: Joycen myötävaikutuksella Gilbert antaa näille luvuille tai episodeille nimet Telemakhos, Nestor, Proteus, Kalypso, Lootuksensyöjät, Hades, Aiolus, Laistrygonit, Skylla ja Kharybdis, "Symplegadit l. loukkurit" kuten Otto Manninen ja, häntä seuraten, Hannu Riikonen suomentavat Joycen otsikon "The Wandering Rocks", Sireenit, Kykloopit, Nausikaa, Auringon härät, Kirke, Eumaios, Ithaka, ja lopulta Penelope.

Joyce itse kehotti tätiään, joka valitti hänen teoksensa vaikealukuisuutta, lukemaan ensin Homeroksen eepoksesta helppolukuisen, nuorille lukijoille tarkoitetun ja hieman lyhennellyn Charles Lambin proosakäännöksen The Adventures of Ulysses ja yrittämään sen jälkeen uudestaan. Hän ilmeisesti siis uskoi, että jo pintapuolinen Odysseian tuntemus auttaa Odysseuksen lukemisessa.

Telemakhosta eli Odysseuksen poikaa vastaa tässä modernissa odysseiassa Stephen Dedalus, joka siis oli jo Taiteilijan omakuvan päähenkilö. Odysseus itse on alkujaan unkarilaista sukujuurta oleva juutalainen ilmoitushankkija Leopold Bloom (mainitsen unkarilaisuuden ja juutalaisuuden siksi, että Joyce tematisoi erityisesti "Kyklooppi"-episodissa kitkerän satiirisesti irlantilaisen kansanmiehen ennakkoluulot ulkolaisia ja erityisesti juutalaisia kohtaan). Tätä isä-poika-asetelmaa ja kaikkea mitä siitä seuraa ei kumpikaan näistä päähenkilöistä varsinaisesti tiedosta. Kaikki nuo kahdeksantoista episodia tapahtuvat yhden päivän aikana, kuudestoista kesäkuuta 1904, päivänä jolloin Dublininkin lehdistä voitiin lukea sähkeuutinen siitä miten muuan Eugen Schaumann oli ampunut kenraalikuvernööri Bobrikoffin kuoliaaksi toisella puolella Eurooppaa, Helsingissä. Tätä ennen Stephen Dedalusin ja Leopold Bloomin päivään on jo ehtinyt mahtua useita tapahtumia.

Voin suositella kaikille, jotka aikovat lukea Joycen vaativan mutta antoisan teoksen, Hannu Riikosen mainiota kirjaa parin vuosikymmenen takaa, James Joycen Odysseus: kielen ja kerronnan sokkelo (Helsinki: Gaudeamus, 1985). Seuraan nyt enemmän tai vähemmän hänen selontekoaan. Kuten Homeroksen Odysseiassa, myös Joycen romaanissa tai "ensyklopediassa" on kolme pääosaa. Ensimmäinen näistä on "Telemakheia" eli "Telemakhoksen seikkailut". Homeroksen eepoksessa tämä tarkoittaa kertomusta muun muassa siitä, miten Telemakhos pyrkii hankkimaan tietoja isänsä kohtalosta. Joycella tämä ensimmäinen pääosa käsittää episodit "Telemakhos", "Nestor" ja "Proteus". Itse asiassa Joyce oli alun perin varustanut Odysseuksensa kahdeksantoista episodia näillä mainituilla otsakkeilla, mutta poisti ne julkaistusta versiosta. Gilbertin tutkielmasta lähtien on ollut tapana viitata episodeihin näillä otsikoilla.

Episodeista Telemakhos, Proteus, Kalypso, Kyklooppi

Ensimmäinen episodi "Telemakhos" on kerronnaltaan vielä suhteellisen sovinnaista ja helppolukuista proosaa, melkeinpä jatkoa Taiteilijan omakuvalle, ja se kertookin Stephen Dedalusin myöhemmistä vaiheista viitaten myös tämän aiempiin vaiheisiin jesuiittojen oppilaana. Jakson tapahtumapaikka on niinsanottu Martello-torni, Napoleonin sotien ajoilta periytyvä jyhkeä pyöreä tykistövarustus, jonka joukko opiskelijoita on vuokrannut asunnokseen. Tämä kohtaus nykyisin James Joyce Tower -nimellä tunnetussa tornissa, joka sijaitsee Dublinin Sandycovessa ja jossa toimii nykyisin Joyce-museo, perustuu Joycen omiin kokemuksiin. Tapahtuma-aika on noin kello 8 aamulla.

Koko teos alkaakin siitä miten

Komea, pulska Buck Mulligan tuli portaidenpäästä kädessään vaahdokekuppi, jonka päälle peili ja partaveitsi oli asetettu ristiin. Keltainen, vyöttämätön aamutakki kohoili hänen takanaan lauhassa aamun ilmassa. Hän piti kuppia korkealla ja messusi:

– Introibo ad altare Dei.

Tällaiset parodiset viittaukset katoliseen liturgiaan toistuvat usein Odysseuksessa, Irlannissa kun ollaan ja Stephen Dedaluksen jälkiä seurataan, tämän "hirvittävän jesuiitan" kuten Buck Mulligan häntä nimittelee. Niinsanottu tajunnanvirtatekniikka, josta Ulysses on kuuluisa, astuu kuvioon hyvin pian, vain muutamaa riviä myöhemmin, yhden sanan muodostaman virkkeen muodossa: "Khrysostomos." Tämä "Khrysostomos" on selvästikin Stephenin toteamus Mulliganista; se on nimittäin kreikkaa ja tarkoittaa "kultasuuta", viitaten siis Buck Mulliganin hampaiden kultaisiin paikkoihin, mutta samalla myös, kuten Riikonen toteaa, "kirkkoisä Johannes Khrysostomokseen, joka oli tunnetusti etevä ja kaunopuheinen saarnamies, jollaisena myös (parodisessa mielessä) Mulligankin esiintyy". Joycen teksti on täynnä tällaisia monitahoisia alluusioita.

Mulligan on häikäilemätön hyväksikäyttäjä, "usurpaattori" kuten häntä jälleen Stephenin tajunnanvirrassa kutsutaan, ja opiskelijanuorukaisten välit Martello-tornissa (jota hellenisti Mulligan kutsuu maailman napaa ja Kalypson saarta tarkoittavalla sanalla omfalos) ovat muutenkin hankalat; niinpä "Stephen on yhtä huonossa asemassa kuin Telemakhos kotikartanossaan, jossa Penelopen kosijat tuhlaavat Odysseuksen omaisuutta", kuten Riikonen huomauttaa (s. 38).

Tämän odysseian varsinainen Penelope on kuitenkin Leopold Bloomin vaimo Molly, jonka öiseen tajunnanvirtaan tämä teos ja myös siinä käytetty tajunnanvirtatekniikka lopulta huipentuu: viimeinen jakso, "Penelope", koostuu noin viidestäkymmenestä sivusta mielleyhtymiä vailla välimerkkejä. Parodiaa sekin, että tämä Penelope ei odota Odysseustaan aivan yhtä uskollisena kuin esikuvansa; itse asiassa Leopold, tai Poldy kuten Molly miestään kutsuu, aavistaa vaimonsa pelehtivän Blazes Boylan -nimisen keikarin kanssa, ja tämä tietoisuus putkahtaa aina silloin tällöin Bloomin ajatuksiin ja mielteisiin, joita seurataan välillä hyvin pikkutarkasti.

Kuten Riikonen toteaa, "Odysseus- romaanin ensimmäiset jaksot ovat varsin lyhyitä ja kerronnaltaan suhteellisen yksinkertaisia verrattuna myöhemmin tuleviin laajoihin ja kokeellisiin jaksoihin. Joyce itse perusteli tätä mm. sillä, että ihmisen mieli liikkuu aamulla hitaammin aivotoiminnan vilkastuessa ja kiihtyessä iltaa kohti; myöhemmin Finnegans Wakessa hän kuvasikin kokonaan ihmisen 'yötajuntaa'". Toisessa episodissa, nimeltään "Nestor", ollaan koulussa jossa Stephen Dedalus toimii tilapäisenä historianopettajana. Riikonen mainitsee, että "Stephenin historiaa koskevat pohdinnat perustuvat paljolti [...] William Blaken ajatuksiin" (s. 40). Tämä on sikälikin mielenkiintoista, että aivan Taiteilijan omakuvan lopussa oleva päiväkirjamerkintä, jossa Stephen asettaa itselleen tehtävän, kuten hän kirjoittaa, "työstää sieluni ahjossa oman rotuni luomaton tietoisuus [to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race]", on hyvin blakelainen ajatus taiteilijasta.

Mitä tuo "rotu" sitten tarkoittaa? Siinä on nähdäkseni kysymys pikemminkin Dedalusin kaltaisista uuden ajan ihmisistä kuin vaikkapa irlantilaisista. Tai se on "rotu" jolla ei vielä ole tietoisuutta itsestään, siis jota ei vielä ole, ei ole luotu — ja taiteilijan tehtävä on luoda tuo tietoisuus tai "omatunto [conscience]".

Seuraavan episodin, joka on saanut nimen alati vikkelästi muotoaan muuttavalta merenhaltija Proteukselta, "kertomatekniikkana on Joycen oman maininnan mukaan monologi", kuten Riikonen toteaa, sisäinen monologi. "Stephenin on vaikea saada omista ajatuksistaan selvää", toteaa Riikonen, "aivan niin kuin Proteukselta oli vaikea saada tietoja". Katkelma "Proteus"-episodin alusta edustaa hyvin tajunnanvirtatekniikkaa, jossa sekoittuvat katkelmalliset filosofiset pohdinnat, nähtyjen ja kuultujen ja tunnettujen havaintojen muuttuminen kirjoitukseksi jota Stephen ajattelee lukevansa, italian- ja saksankieliset lauseiden ja sanojen muistumat, onomatopoeettiset sanat kun hän kävelee yli simpukankuorten, katkelma laulusta, ja niin edelleen:

Wikikirjat-sivustolla on (oli?) huikea selityksillä varustettu laitos Ulysses-teoksesta, Annotations to James Joyce's Ulysses, ks. esim. tämä tekstijakso, Proteus/037 ff, jonka sivu- ja rivinumerot viittaavat vuoden 1922 ensipainokseen. Leevi Lehdon suomentama Ulysses on niin ikään perusteellisesti annotoitu (Helsinki: Gaudeamus, 2012). Tällä luennolla lainatut otteet ovat Pentti Saarikosken Odysseus-suomennoksesta (Helsinki: Tammi, 1964). (Alkuteksti englanniksi esim. täällä.)

Näkyvän väistämätön modaalisuus: ainakin se ellei mitään enempää, ajateltuna minun silmieni kautta. Kaikkien asioiden puumerkkejä olen täällä lukeakseni, merenmädin ja merenlevän, lähestyvän vuoksen, tuon ruosteenruskean kengän. Räänvihreä, sinenhopea, ruoste: värillisiä merkkejä. Läpinäkyvän rajoja. Mutta hän lisää: kappaleissa. Silloin hän tajusi ne ensin kappaleina ja sitten vasta värillisinä. Miten? Iskemällä kallonsa niihin, tietysti. Alä hermostu. Kalju hän oli ja miljonääri, maestro di color che sanno. Läpinäkyvän raja jossakin. Miksi jossakin? Läpinäkyvä, läpinäkymätön. Jos sen läpi voi pistää viisi sormeaan, se on portti, ellei se ole ovi. Sulje silmäsi ja näe.

Stephen sulki silmänsä kuullakseen levien ja näkinkenkien raksuvan rikki kenkiensä alla. Sinä kävelet sen läpi jotenkin kuitenkin. Minä kävelen, harppaus kerrallaan. Hyvin lyhyt ajan avaruus hyvin lyhyiden avaruuden aikojen läpi. Viisi, kuusi: nacheinander. Aivan, ja se on kuuluvan väistämätön modaalisuus. Avaa silmäsi. Ei. Jeesus! Jos putoaisin kalliolla jok' kauemmaksi juurtaan mereen antaa, putoaisin nebeneinanderin läpi väistämättömästi. Minä osaan kulkea hyvin pimeässä. Saarnimiekkani riippuu kupeellani. Tunnustele sillä: ne tekevät niin. Minun kaksi jalkaterääni hänen kengissään ovat hänen jalkojensa päässä, nebeneinander. Tuntuu lujalta: Los Demiurgoksen nuijan tekemää. Kävelenkö minä ikuisuuteen Sandymountin rantaa pitkin? Krash, krakk, krik, krikk. Meren aavan rahaa. Koulumestari Deasy tietää ne kaikki.

Jos tulisit Sandymountiin Madeline tammasein?

Jokaista näistä episodeista luonnehtii paitsi yhteys tiettyyn jaksoon Homeroksen Odysseiassa, myös joukko muita elementtejä, tässä tapauksessa tapahtumapaikka tai näyttämö, joka on ranta, tapahtuma-aika joka on 11 aamupäivällä (Stephen siis lyhykäisen opetustehtävänsä jälkeen kävelee hetken meren rannalla), tiede on filologia, symboli on vuorovesi ja tekniikka on, kuten mainittu, monologi, ja nimenomaan miespuolinen monologi. Juuri lukemastani katkelmasta käy ilmi, että tämä tajunnanvirta ei ole kuitenkaan tässä tapauksessa puhdasta monologia, ellei Stephen sitten puhu välillä itsestään yksikön kolmannessa persoonassa: "Stephen sulki silmänsä kuullakseen levien ja näkinkenkien raksuvan rikki kenkiensä alla." Pentti Saarikosken suomennos toistaa hyvin alkutekstin onomatopoeettisen aspektin, joka oli Joycelle tärkeä osa hänen taidettaan.

"Kaikkien asioiden puumerkkejä olen täällä lukeakseni, merenmädin ja merenlevän, lähestyvän vuoksen, tuon ruosteenruskean kengän." Ikään kuin muotoaan muuttava ja pakeneva esitystapa noudattaa nuoren taiteilijan, nuoren kirjailijan mielenliikkeitä ja – jos näin sopii sanoa – hengenlaatua: hän "lukee" ympäristöään ja samalla kirjoittaa sitä, tai kokee ympäristöään kuin lukisi ja kirjoittaisi. Voisi ajatella, että kun Stephen sulkee "silmänsä kuullakseen levien ja näkinkenkien raksuvan rikki kenkiensä alla", hän kuulee aistimellisen todellisuuden muuttuvan sanoiksi. "Sulje silmäsi ja näe": aistimellinen ulkoisuus muuttuu kirjoitetuksi sisäisyydeksi. Tämä on kirjailijan tapa nähdä: sulje silmäsi kokemuksen välittömyydeltä ja keskity sanoihin. Osaa kulkea hyvin pimeässä: sokeansauvanasi saarnimiekka, näkevälle pelkkä kävelykeppi. Proteusmaista on myös tämä kirjallinen muodonmuutos, kirjailijalle elintärkeä kääntyminen kohti näkyvää ja siitä pois.

Joycen ystävät Stuart Gilbert ja Carlo Linati ovat Joycen avustuksella laatineet "skeemat" joiden avulla on helppo tarkastella kutakin episodia määrittäviä elementtejä; molemmat näistä taulukoista löytyvät kätevässä muodossa Wikipediasta (Gilbert schema for Ulysses, Linati schema for Ulysses).

"Proteuksen" eli "Telemakheia"-osuuden kolmannen osan jälkeen siirrytään toiseen osaan "Odysseuksen harharetket", jonka aloittaa episodi "Kalypso". Tämän toisen episodin

tapahtumapaikkana on 38-vuotiaan dublinilaisen ilmoitushankkijan Leopold Bloomin, nykyaikaisen Odysseuksen, koti Eccles Street 7:ssä. Kello on tällöin noin kahdeksan; tapahtuma-aika on siis sama kuin romaanin ensimmäisessä jaksossa. Kalypso-jaksossa esiintulevana ihmisruumiin elimenä ovat munuaiset — ne tosin tässä yhteydessä viittaavat konkreettisesti niihin sianmunuaisiin, joita Leopold Bloom käy kaupassa ostamassa aamiaista varten. Käsiteltävänä tieteenä on taloustiede, värinä oranssi, symbolina nymfi ja kertomatekniikkana kertomus (narrative), joka kuitenkin erotukseksi ensimmäisestä jaksosta on Joycen oman maininnan mukaan kypsempää (mature). (Riikonen, m.t., s. 47-48.)

Rouva Bloom eli Molly on tässä jaksossa Kalypson moderni vastine. Varsinkin lopun "Penelope"-jaksossa hän on puolestaan tämän odysseian Penelope. Tässä Kalypso-jaksossa kuvataan yksityiskohtaisesti Leopold Bloomin aamuaskareita, mukaan lukien hänen käymäläaskareensa. Tämä yksityiskohtaisuus, monenlaisia ruumiintoimintoja myöten, on perusteltua taiteellisista syistä, sillä jokainen episodi vastaa tosiaankin myös jotakin tiettyä ruumiin elintä — munuainen tuleekin esiin heti luvun alussa:

Leopold Bloom söi halukkaasti nelijalkaisten ja lintujen sisäelimiä. Hän piti paksusta perhekeitosta, herkullisista linnunkuvuista, täytetystä käristetystä sydämestä, leivänmurujen kera paitetuista maksaviipaleista, paistetusta turskanmädistä. Kaikkein eniten hän piti grillatuista lampaanmunuaisista jotka jättivät vienosti tuoksahtavan virtsanmaun hänen kitalakeensa.

Munuaiset olivat hänen mielessään kun hän liikuskeli keittiössä äänettömästi, järjestellen vaimon aamiaista kuhmuiselle tarjottimelle. (Suom. s. 53.)

Ja niin edelleen. Lopulta Odysseuksen kahdestoista episodi on "Kykloopit". Tässä episodissa tulee erityisen vahvasti temaattisesti esiin irlantilaisen kansallishengen kielteinen puoli. Viideltä iltapäivällä ollaan Barney Kiernanin kapakassa. Symbolisena ihmisruumiin elimenä ovat nyt kuitenkin lihakset ja kirjallisena tekniikkana "gigantismi". Kiernanin kapakka vastaakin Kykloopin luolaa, jonka muukalaisvihamielisestä ilmapiiristä sankarimme tai antisankarimme Mr. Bloom lopulta onnistuu pakenemaan Odysseuksen lailla.

[...] Leopold Bloom [...] joutuu jonkinlaiseen kärhämään muiden paikalla olijoiden kanssa. Lopulta hän kuitenkin onnistuu pelastumaan kapakassa, ts. kykloopin luolasta. Homeroksen Odysseian kuvaus tapahtumista kykloopin luolassa sisältää myös väkivaltaa (kykloopin silmän puhkaiseminen), mutta tässä tapauksessa on kysymys enintään "vastustajan" sohaisemisesta sikarilla ja sanoilla mittelemisestä. Jakson ensimmäinen virke toimii johdantona koko lu­vun symboliikkaan ja homeerisiin vastaavuuksiin. Virke alkaa sanalla "I" ja päättyy samalla tavalla ääntyvään, silmää merkitsevään sanaan "eye" (suomennoksessa tämä ei tule ilmi); minä-kertoja mainitsee siinä, että nokikolari oli vähällä työntää kapineensa hänen silmäänsä. Odys­seuksen kokemaan vaaralliseen tilanteeseen verrattuna Joycen romaanin episodi vaikuttaa lähinnä farssilta, mikä sinänsä ei ollut tuntematonta antiikinkaan aikaisessa Odysseus-traditiossa — siitä esimerkkinä mainit­takoon vain Euripideen Kyklooppi-niminen satyyrinäytelmä.

Edellämainitut tapahtumat ja keskustelut muodostavat jakson perus­tan, "perusdiskurssin". Jakson vaikeaselkoisuus johtuu kuitenkin siitä, että tämä perusdiskurssi katkaistaan jatkuvasti toisen tason diskurssilla, joka on eräänlainen myyttinen sankaritarina. Se taas muodostuu erilai­sista aladiskursseista, jotka parodioivat milloin minkinlaista esitystapaa. Tämä toisen tason diskurssien sarja muodostaa jatkuvan ironisen kom­mentin ensimmäisen tason tapahtumille ja keskusteluille. Otan tästä esille erään esimerkin. Kapakassa oleva seurue on päätynyt lopulta kes­kustelemaan puista ja Irlannin metsänhoidosta (s. 320-321):

– Yhtä puuton kuin Portugali on tämä maa kohta, sanoo John Wyse, – tai Helgoland jossa kasvaa yksi puu, ellei jotain tehdä metsien jälleenistuttamisek­si. Saksankuuset, kuuset, kaikki conifer-heimon puut ovat nopeaa vauhtia häviä­mässä. Minä luin lordi Castletownin raportin...

– Pelastakaa ne, sanoo kansalainen, – Galwayn saarnijättiläinen ja Kildaren jalavaylimys jolla on neljänkymmenen jalan runko ja eekkeri lehtiä. Pelastakaa Irlannin puut Irlannin tuleville sukupolville Eiren kauniilla kukkuloilla, oi.

– Eurooppa katsoo teihin, sanoo Lenehan.

Tämä saa ironiseksi kommentikseen toisella diskurssin tasolla esityk­sen, joka parodioi aikakauslehtien seurapiiripalstan esitystä; se on kuvaus seurapiirihäistä jolloin erityistä huomiota on kiinnitetty naisten muotiin (vrt. myöhemmin Nausikaa-episodi), mutta samalla kaikki siinä esille tuleva liittyy jollakin tavalla puihin ja metsänhoitoon (s. 321):

Kansainvälisten seurapiirien kerma en masse oli läsnä tänään iltapäivällä, kun avioliittoon vihittiin ritari Jean Wyse de Neoulanen, Irlannin Kansallisen Metsänhoitajaliiton ylipääsuurmetsänvartija, ja neiti Cuusia Conifer Mäntylaaksosta. Rouva Sylvester Jalavainen, rouva Barbara Koivulempi, rouva Polly Saarni, rouva Dolly Pähkynä, neiti Dafne Laakeroinen, [jne. jne.] [Riikonen, m.t., s. 89-90.]

On totta että näiden tutkielmien, jotka hahmottavat Joycen kirjan rakenteellisia ja sisällöllisiä periaatteita, avulla Odysseuksesta saa huomattavasti enemmän irti kuin kylmiltään lukiessa. Toisaalta, muistan joskus kuulleeni jonkun sanoneen, että ilman vaikkapa Gilbertin kommentaaria lukijan olisi tuskin edes mahdollista huomata romaanin yhteyttä Odysseiaan. Tämä on kyllä liioittelua: kirjan nimi Ulysses jo houkuttelee etsimään viittauskohtia, ja kun esimerkiksi Bloomin poistuessa pubista juopunut antisemitisti viskaa korppupurkin hänen peräänsä sillä kuitenkaan osumatta (sillä "Jumalan armosta aurinko paistoi sen silmiin tai muuten se olisi tappanut sen", kuten yksi tuonkin luvun lukuisista kertojanäänistä toteaa), niin nokkelan lukijan päähän voi kyllä pälkähtää kyklooppi Polyfemos ja Odysseuksen eli Ei-Kenenkään pako kyklooppien saarelta.

Tuosta mieleenjohtumasta on sitten mahdollista lähteä rakentamaan muita yhteyksiä. Mainittu antisemitisti, joka sattuu olemaan myös ainakin omasta mielestään harras katolilainen, kuten muutama muukin eräässä pubissa jossa Bloom lyhyesti vierailee, ja jossa häntä ennakkoluuloisesti kyräillään, on nimittäin tuohtunut siitä, miten Bloom muistuttaa että "Mendelssohn oli juutalainen ja Karl Marx ja Mercadante ja Spinoza. Ja Vapahtaja oli juutalainen ja hänen isänsä oli juutalainen. Teidän Jumala."

– Hänellä ei ollut mitään isää, sanoo Martin. – Nyt riittää. Antakaa painua.

– Kenen Jumala? sanoo kansalainen.

– No hänen setänsä joka tapauksessa oli juutalainen [sanoo Bloom]. Teidän Jumala oli juutalainen. Kristus oli juutalainen niinkuin minä.

Jumaliste, kansalainen sukelsi takaisin kauppaan.

– Ja Jeesus, se sanoo, – mä lyön otsan puhki tolta saatanan juudakselta joka käyttää pyhää nimeä. Ja Jeesus, minä ristiinaulitsen sen. Anna tänne tuo korppupurkki tuolta.

– Lopeta jo! sanoo Joe.

Vaikka Kansalaiseksi kutsutun väkivaltaisen, juopuneen juutalaistenvihaajan ystävät ilmeisesti jakavatkin hänen antisemitisminsä ja yleisen epäluulonsa kaikkia ulkomaalaisia kohtaan, he kuitenkin yrittävät tämän Joen tavoin hillitä "kansalaisen" raivonpuuskaa. Tässä täytyy painottaa että Leopold Bloom on kyllä irlantilainen, mutta juutalaisena ja toisen polven maahanmuuttajana ei kuitenkaan aivan "perusirlantilainen". Tämän dialogin jälkeen siirrytään humoristisesti muistelemaan kuinka muka

Suuri ja ihastunut ystävien ja tuttavien joukko Dublinin kaupungista ja esikaupungeista kokoontui tuhatlukuisena hyvästelemään Nagyaságos uram Lipóti Viragia, joka palveli aikaisemmin Alexander Thomilla, Hänen Majesteettinsa Kirjapainossa, hänen lähtiessään Szászharminczbrojúgulyás-Dugulásin (kuiskailevien Vetten Niityn) kaukaiseen maahan. Seremonialle, jota väritti suuri éclat, oli luonteenomaista erittäin liikuttava sydämellisyys. (Suom. s. 336.)

Ja niin edelleen: tällaiset ironiset siirtymät ovat hyvin luonteenomaisia Odysseukselle. Unkarilainen aatelisnimi viittaa siihen, miten hieman aiemmin käydyssä keskustelussa on käynyt ilmi, että Bloom on unkarilaisen maahanmuuttajan poika. Niinpä patriootteina itseään pitävillä kansalaisilla on kaksinverroin syytä epäluuloonsa: epäilyttävä tyyppi Leopold Bloom on paitsi juutalainen, lisäksi vielä ulkomaalainen juutalainen.

Sellaista mä en ole ennen tässä lyhyessä elämässäni nähnyt jumaliste, jos se olisi saanut sen arpalipun osumaan sen nuppiin niin kyllä olisi poika muistanut kultapokaalin, mutta kansalainen jumaliste olisi pidätetty päällekarkauksesta ja pahoinpitelystä ja Joe avusta ja yllytyksestä. Kuski pelasti hänen henkensä sillä kun se ajoi niin raivokkaasti se on yhtä tosi kuin että Jumala loi Mooseksen. Vai? Ja Jeesus, se on varma juttu se. Ja se päästi kirousryöpyn päälle:

– Tapoinko mä sen, sanoo hän, — mitä?

Ja sille saatanan piskille se huusi:

– Perään, Garry! Ota kiinni!

Ja viimeinen näky oli kun ne saatanan kärrit kääntyivät kulman ympäri ja se vanha lammaskasvo viuhtoi käsillään ja se saatanan rakki perässä korvat suorana niin että hippulat vinku että pääsisi repimään sen kappaleiksi. Sata viidestä! Jeesus, kyllä se sen rahan edestä saikin, uskokaa vähemmällä.

Ja katso, heidän ympärilleen laskeutui suuri kirkkaus ja he näkivät Hänen seisovan vaunuissa ja nousevan ylös taivaaseen. Ja he näkivät Hänet kun Hän seisoi vaunuissa, pukeutuneena kirkkauden kunniaan, ja Hänen asunsa oli kuin aurinko, kaunis kuin kuu ja niin kauhistuttava että he peljästyivät eivätkä rohjenneet katsoa Häntä. Ja taivaasta kuului ääni joka huusi: Elia! Elia! Ja hän vastasi korkealla äänellä: Abba! Adonai! Ja he näkivät Hänen, itsensä Hänen, ben Bloom Elian, enkelien parven keskellä nousevan kirkkauden kunniaan neljänkymmenenviiden asteen kulmassa Pikku Green Streetillä sijaitsevan Donohoen kapakan ylitse kuin pyssynsuusta.

(Suom. Saarikoski, s. 338-339, so. Kykloopit-episodin loppu.)

Isyys on yksi Odysseuksen suurista teemoista. Sana Nobodaddy (joka on itse asiassa William Blakelta lainattu pilkkanimi kristittyjen ihmishahmoiselle Jumalalle ja joka on tietenkin yhdistetty sanoista nobody ja daddy) esiintyy pari kertaa Odysseuksessa. Sen voinee yhdistää paitsi isä ja poika -tematiikkaan tässä tekstijaksossa, myös kyklooppi-myyttiin, sillä Odysseushan vastaa Kykloopille olevansa "ei kukaan", ou tis. Tässä yhteydessä täytyy ottaa huomioon myös se, miten muuan Martin esittää vastalauseensa Bloomin pohdinnoille Jeesuksen juutalaisesta isästä: "Hänellä ei ollut mitään isää." Stephen toteaa pohdinnoissaan isyyden olevan itse asiassa "lainopillinen fiktio", a legal fiction.

"Moderni perspektivismi" Nausikaa-episodissa

"Kykloopit"-episodia seuraa jakso nimeltä "Nausikaa". Kello on kahdeksan illalla ja ollaan jälleen samoilla rantakallioilla joilla Stephen Dedalus, tämän eepoksen Telemakhos, käveli aamulla "Proteus"-jaksossa. Ruumiinosista tai -elimistä tässä "tulevat esille ennen kaikkea silmä ja nenä", kuten Hannu Riikonen toteaa, taiteena maalaustaide, väreinä harmaa ja sininen, symbolina neitsyt. "Kertomatekniikaksi Joyce nimesi ilmiön 'tumescence—detumescence'", kuten Riikonen kertoo: "Jaksossa tulee esille siis eräänlainen tyylin paisuminen ja sen vähittäinen lopahtaminen." (97)

Brian McHalen mukaan Odysseuksen "Nausikaa"-jakso on "klassinen esimerkki modernistisesta perpektivismistä" (Postmodernist Fiction, London: Routledge, 1987, 12) eli siitä, miten kaksi vastakkaista näkökulmaa asetetaan rinnakkain. Tämä rinnastus on oikeastaan pikemminkin taitekohta, ja tuossa näkökulmien taitekohdassa tapahtuu myös tyylin paisumisen kääntyminen vähittäiseksi lopahtamiseksi. Mikään sattuma ei olekaan, että tästä paisumisesta ja nuupahtamisesta tulee mieleen jokin aivan toinen ruumiinosa kuin silmät ja nenä.

Jakso alkaa viihdelukemistoja parodioivalla tyylillä. Lainaan seuraavassa Saarikosken suomennosta.

Englanninkielinen alkuteksti on luettavissa PDF-tiedostona, Wikisource-tekstinä tai ohessa (ks. vasen marginaali) ja kuunneltavissa mainiona äänikirjana, jossa Nausicäa-episodi on jaettu kahteen osaan (jaksot 18 ja 19).

Kesäilta oli alkanut kietoa maailmaa salaperäiseen syleilyynsä. Kaukana lännessä aurinko laski, ja aivan liian nopeasti kiitävän päivän hehku vielä hyväili merta ja rantaa, vanhan rakkaan Howthin ylpeää kallioniemenä, [...]. Kolme tyttöystävystä istui kallioilla nauttien iltaisesta näkymästä ja ilmasta, joka oli raikas mutta ei liian kolea.. Monta monituista kertaa olivat he tulleet tänne, tähän lempinurkkaukseensa kodikkaasti juttelemaan, keskustelemaan naisten asioista kimmeltävien aaltojen tuntumassa. Cissy Caffrey ja Edy Boardman, jolla oli vauva vaunuissa, ja Tommy ja Jacky Caffrey, kaksi pientä kiharapäistä tenavaa yllään merimiespuvut ja niihin kuuluvat lakit, joihin kumpaankin oli painettu H. M. S. Belleisle. Sillä Tommy ja Jacky Caffrey olivat kaksosia, vajaan neljän ikäisiä ja hyvin meluisia ja poispilattuja kaksosia toisinaan mutta sittenkin niin kultaisia pikku vesseleitä, joilla oli niin säteilevät, iloiset kasvot ja niin ihastuttavat kujeet. He touhusivat sannassa lapioineen ja sankoineen, rakentaen linnoja, kuten lasten tapa on, tai leikkien isolla, värikkäällä pallollaan, onnellisina niin kauan kuin päivää kesti. Ja Edy Boardman kiikutti pyöreäposkista vauvaa vaunuissa, ja pikku herrasmies melkein kihersi riemusta. Hän oli vasta yhdentoista kuukauden ja yhdeksän päivän ikäinen, ja sellainen pikkuriikkinen pojan pallero kuin vielä olikin, alkoi juuri soperrella ensimmäisiä vauvamaisia sanojaan. Cissy Caffrey kumartui hänen ylitseen ja nipisteli hänen paksua pikku masuaan ja somaa kuoppaa hänen leuassaan.

– No pikkunen, Cissy Caffrey sanoi. — Sano nyt, sano nyt nätisti. Minä haluan vettä.

Ja vauva lepersi hänen perässään:

– Titää titää tetää.

Cissy Caffrey hyväili pikku miekkosta, sillä hän piti lapsista aivan tavattomasti, oli niin kärsivällinen pienten avuttomien olentojen kanssa, ja Tommy Caffreyta ei milloinkaan saanut ottamaan risiiniöljyään, jos ei Cissy Caffrey ollut pitämässä hänen nenäänsä kiinni ja luvannut hänelle ruskeastaleivästä makoisaa kannikkapa- laa kultaisen siirapin kera. Millainen suostuttelukyky tuolla tytöllä olikaan! Mutta olipa vauvakin niin kultaista tekoa, täydellinen pik- ku kullanmuru uuden korean hakalappunsa kanssa. Cissy Caffrey ollutkaan noita poispilattuja kaunottaria, Flora MacFlimsyn sorttia. Vilpittömämpää tyttölasta ei ole kuuna päivänä nähty, nauru aina väreili hänen mustalaisensilmissään ja kujeellinen sana hänen kirsikankypsillä punaisilla huulillaan, äärimmäisen rakastettava tyttö hän oli. Ja Edy Boardmankin nauroi pikkuveljen hullunkurista kieltä. (Suom. Saarikoski, s. 339ff.)

Tässä on siis kyseessä sovinnaisen imelä, viihderomaaneille tyypillisillä harmittomilla pikku nokkeluuksilla ryyditetty kuvaus kahdesta tyttöystävyksestä ja näiden pikkuveljistä, vaunuissa kulkevasta vauvasta ja neljävuotiaista kaksosista, joista toinen joutuu isojen tyttöjen kiusoittelemaksi: "Minä tiedän kuka on Tommyn kulta, Gerty on Tommyn kulta", minkä jälkeen vasta kysytään kolmannesta tytöstä: "Mutta kuka oli Gerty?"

Gerty MacDowell, joka istui lähellä tovereitaan ajatuksiin vaipuneena, katsellen kauas etäisyyteen, oli totta totisesti niin kaunis esimerkki viehättävästä irlantilaisesta neitokaisesta, että parempaa ei voisi toivoa näkevänsä. Hänen kauneuttaan kuuluttivat kaikki, jotka hänet tunsivat, vaikkakin, kuten ihmiset usein sanoivat, hänessä oli enemmän Giltrapia kuin MacDowellia. Hänen vartalonsa oli solakka ja suloinen, melkeinpä hauras, mutta ne rautavalmisteet joita hän oli viime aikoina ruvennut ottamaan, olivat vaikuttaneet häneen huomattavasti edullisemmin kuin Welchin lesken naistenpillerit, eikä hänellä enää ollut siinä määrin kuin aikaisemmin noita vuotojaan eikä tuota väsymyksen tunnetta. Hänen kasvojensa vahamainen kalpeus oli melkein henkistä norsunluunvalkoisessa puhtaudessaan, mutta hänen ruusunnuppusuunsa oli aito Cupidon kaari, kreikkalaisen täydellinen. Hänen kätensä olivat hienosuonista alabasteria, sormet suokat [sic] ja niin valkoiset kuin niistä sitruunamehulla ja ihovoiteiden kuningattarella ikinä sai, vaikkakaan ei ole totta että hän olisi pitänyt nukkuessaan silohansikkaita enempää kuin ottanut maitokylpyjä jaloilleenkaan. (Suom. s. 341.)

Ja niin edelleen. Gerty MacDowellin myyttinen esikuva on Odysseian Nausikaa, "Kaunis heleä Nausikaa", kuninkaantytär. Samalla kun Odysseus, joka on hädin tuskin pelastunut merestä fajakien maahan ja nukkuu nyt alasti pensaikossa joen rannalla, Nausikaa ja piikatytöt pesevät pyykkiä joessa ja kylpevät ja laulavat ja pelaavat palloa. Yhtäkkiä pallo lentää virtaan, piikatytöt kirkaisevat kimeästi ja Odysseus herää, nousee esiin pensaiden alta, "taitettuaan vahvalla kädellä tiheiköstä tuuhean oksan peittääkseen elimensä", kuten Saarikosken Odysseia-suomennoksessa sanotaan, "niin päätti Odysseus[...] lähestyä hiuksevia tyttöjä vaikka oli alasti, sillä hätä pakotti häntä." Myös Joycen Odysseuksen Nausikaa-jaksossa esiintyy pallo, joka ei lennä virran pyörteisiin tai mereen vaan Gerty MacDowellin helmoihin.

Hempeähkön merenrantaidyllin katkaisee lähinnä vain virrenveisuu ja "urkujen uhkuva soitto", jotka ajoittain kantautuvat läheisessä kirkossa vietettävästä miesten raittiuskokouksesta, kunnes tunnelma kohoaa ja lataus purkautuu ilotulituksen muodossa.

Sisällytin tämän "Nausikaa"-episodin luentokurssin oheiskirjallisuuslistaan useastakin syystä. Ensinnäkin kyseessä on, kuten sanottu, esimerkki "modernistisesta perspektivismistä". Jakson alkupuoli kerotaan Gertyn näkökulmasta, tai vähintäänkin siitä horisontista käsin, jonka nuorille naisille suunnattu viihdekirjallisuus ja myös mainonta tarjoavat Joycen tavalle noudattaa kulloiseenkin fokalisoijaan ja tilanteeseen soveltuvaa tyyliä. Jakson "huippukohdassa" perspektiivi ja fokalisoija vaihtuu. Toiseksi "Nausikaa" on yksi niistä episodeista, jotka selittävät Odysseuksen julkaisuun liittyneen moraalisen pahennuksen ja sensuurin. Kolmanneksi "Nausikaa" on myös erinomainen esimerkki vastaavuuksista Homeroksen Odysseian ja tämän modernin "eepoksen" välillä. Neljänneksi, se tarjoaa myös mainion näytteen Joycen musikaalisesta rytmityksestä ja ronskistakin huumorista. Ennen kuin päätin lisätä tämän Odysseuksen episodin oheiskirjallisuuslistaan, tapanani oli lukea luennolla pitkähköjä otteita episodista, korostaen sen crescendomaista rakennetta (Saarikosken suomennoksen sivuilta 342-343, 344, 346-347, 348-349, 350-351, 353, 354, 358-361) ja koomista huipennusta, jonka rytmi saa lukijansakin hengästymään, lopulta päätyen seuraavaan otteeseen (sivulla 361), vapaaseen epäsuoraan esitykseen joka paljastaa meille salaperäisen tumman muukalaisen henkilöllisyyden ja mietteet:

Leopold Bloom (sillä hän se oli) seisoi ääneti, pää painuksissa noiden nuorten teeskentelemättömien silmien edessä. Millainen peto hän olikaan ollut? Taas sitä? Kaunis tahraton sielu oli kutsunut häntä ja hän, tämä kurja mies, kuinka hän oli vastannut? Täydellinen moukka oli hän ollut. Hän kaikista miehistä! Mutta noissa silmissä oli äärettömästi anteeksiantamusta, hänellekin laupeuden sana vaikka hän oli erehtynyt ja syntiä tehnyt ja vaeltanut. Kertoisiko tyttö? Ei, tuhat kertaa ei. Se oli heidän salaisuutensa, vain heidän, he olivat kahden olleet kätkevässä hämärässä eikä ollut ketään kuka tietäisi tai kertoisi paitsi pieni lepakko joka lensi pehmeästi illassa edestakaisin, ja pienet lepakot eivät kerro.

"Nausikaa"-episodi on yksi niistä Odysseuksen jaksoista jotka johtivat Joycen romaanin takavarikoimiseen Yhdysvaltain tullissa ja koko siihen skandaalimaiseen selkkausten sarjaan, joka varjosti kirjan varhaista julkaisuhistoriaa. Perspektiivien nivelkohdassa, siis silloin kun Gertyn näkökulmaan keskittynyt kerronta on lopuillaan ja käy ilmi, että salaperäinen, surumielisen oloinen tummanpuhuva muukalainen on kuin onkin Leopold Bloom ja fokus äkkiä vaihtuu Gertysta Bloomiin, eli tästä modernista Nausikaasta moderniin Odysseukseen, käy kohtuullisen suorasti ilmi myös se, että Bloom ei syyllisty ainoastaan avoimehkoon tirkistelyyn vaan myös salaa masturboi kädet taskussa, ja kaiken kukkuraksi nuori neito Gerty näyttää salaa tiedostavan tämän kaiken eikä kuitenkaan pane pahakseen… tai tämä on ainakin Bloomin käsitys asiasta, vaikka hän toisaalta toruu itseään.

Siellä hän on niiden kanssa ilotulitusta katsomassa. Minun ilotulitukseni. Ylös kuin raketti, alas kuin keppi. […] Anteeksi, mutta voisitteko sanoa mitä on oikea aika? Minä sanon sinulle jollakin pimeällä kujalla mitä on oikea aika. […] Ei katsonut taakseen kun käveli rantaa alas. Ei suonut sitä iloa. Ne tytöt, ne tytöt, ne ihanat uimarannan tytöt. Hienot silmät sillä oli, kirkkaat. Silmän valkuainen se on eikä niinkään pupilli. Tiesikö hän mitä minä? Tottakai. Kuin kissa joka istuu niin ettei koira pääse siihen käsiksi. […] Herra Jumala kun minä olen märkä. Piru sinä olet. Uhkeat pohkeet. Läpinäkyvät sukat, venyivät repeämäisilleen. Ei niinkuin se mummu tänään. A. E. Sukat makkaralla. Tai se Grafton streetiltä. Valkoiset. Mjaa! Ensiluokkainen pihvi.

Räjähdysraketti purkautui, räiskyi ja ritisi ja ratisi. Zrad ja zrad, zrad, zrad. Ja Cissy ja Tommy juoksivat katsomaan ja Edy perästä vaunujen kanssa ja sitten Gerty kallion mutkan taakse. Katsooko? Katso! Katso! Katso! Käänsi päätään. Haistoi sipulin hajun. Rakas, minä näin sinun. Minä näin kaiken.

Herra Jumala!

Teki minulle hyvää joka tapauksessa. Allapäin Kiernanin jälkeen. Dignamin jälkeen. Tästä helpotuksesta suurkiitos.

Viimeistään lukijan on tajuttava syy Bloomin näihin mietteisiin, katumuksensekaiseen kiitollisuuteen ja paidanhelman kastumiseen siinä vaiheessa kun hänen sisäisessä monologissaan tullaan kohtaan, jossa käy ilmi että hänellä on kuin onkin esinahka tallella: "Nai toukokuussa ja kadu joulukuussa. Tämä märkä on kovin epämiellyttävää. Liimautunut kiinni. Jaaha esinahka ei ole mennyt takaisin. Parasta irroittaa./ Auh!" (366)

Mutta jos Bloom ajatteleekin, että Gerty ymmärsi kyllä mitä oli tekemässä ja mitä häntä tarkkaillut mies puolestaan teki ilotulitusrakettien räjähdellessä, jos Bloom ajatteleekin yhtäältä tuota pyhää "ääretöntä anteeksiantamusta" ja toisaalta kutsuu tyttöä mielessään "kuumaksi pikku pirulaiseksi" jolla "ei olisi ollut mitään vastaan" ja niin edelleen (360-361), siis ajattelee että tämä enkeli-paholainen kyllä tiesi mitä teki ja mitä hän itse teki, niin mistä ja miten lukija voi päätellä tämän saman asian? Tästä annetaan vain hienovaraisia mutta epävarmoja viitteitä silloin, kun fokus on Gertyn mielenliikkeissä.

Episodin suhde Homeroksen Odysseian kuudenteen lauluun on mielenkiintoinen. Toisaalta "Nausikaa"-jakson on syytetty herjaavan Homeroksen eeposta erityisen törkeästi; toisaalta sen viittaussuhdetta esikuvaansa on pidetty pintapuolisena. Taannoin ilmestyi Cynthia Hornbeckin mielenkiintoinen artikkeli "Greekly Imperfect: The Homeric Origins of Joyce’s 'Nausicaa'" (2009 ↓), joka pyrkii osoittamaan, että tämä suhde on päinvastoin mitä syvällisin.

Kuten sanottu, jakson alkupuoli on helppo tunnistaa parodiaksi viihdelukemistojen imelästä tyylistä. Hornbeck kuitenkin väittää, ettei "Nausikaa"-jakso parodioi yksinomaan viihdekirjallisuutta (episodissa mm. siteerataan Maria Cumminsin "sentimentaalista romaania" The Lamplighter) tai aikakauden kulutuskulttuuria mainoksineen sen enempää kuin Homeroksen eepostakaan, vaan pikemminkin – tai samaan aikaan myös, ja ennen kaikkea – viktoriaanisen aikakauden tapaa kääntää ja siten tulkita, muokatakin Homeroksen runoutta (90-92). Jo mainitsemani Lambin englanninkielinen, nuorille lukijoille suunnattu, lyhennelty The Adventures of Ulysses on yksi esimerkki alkutekstin siloittelusta, mutta vielä terävämmin Joycen parodia osuu aikakaudelle tyypillisiin "korkean tyylin" mitallisiin käännöksiin, jotka pyrkivät jäljittelemään homeerista tyyliä mutta tekevät itse asiassa varsin suoraviivaisesta alkutekstistä tarpeettomankin arkaaista ja ylevää. Hornbeckin mukaan Joyce myös osoittaa "Nausikaa"-episodillaan, ettei myyttinen aines ole aina niin puhdasta, suurta tai ylevää kuin on ollut tapana olettaa (90).

Hornbeck kiinnittää hyvin mielenkiintoisella tavalla huomiotamme siihen, että Odysseiassa suuri osa kuudennesta laulusta eli episodista, jossa Odysseus kohtaa kuninkaantytär Nausikaan, on kerrottu Nausikaan näkökulmasta:

Ingrid Holmberg, examining the position of women in the Odyssey, claims that “the desire of the female is positioned in opposition to socially acceptable goals and the narrative action of the plot.” Ulysses could be said to operate the same way: If the book’s telos is a reconciliation between Bloom and his wife, then not only do Gerty’s sexual desires stand in the way, but so too do Molly’s adulterous desires, and her sexual miscommunications with Bloom. Yet these readings would have us believe that Homer and Joyce were concerned only with the welfare of their protagonists. They neglect the fact that neither Nausicaa nor Gerry is seen only or even mostly from the hero’s perspective. The rising half of Joyce’s chapter is entirely Gerty’s narration [better: the perspective or focalisation is Gerty’s; P.R.], and Homer devotes a clear majority of Book Six to Nausicaa’s words and experiences, making it the only book of the Odyssey that is dominated by a woman’s perspective. Indeed, Samuel Butler found her to be so distinctively portrayed that he suggested that the fictional Nausicaa was an autobiographical representation of the epic’s actual female author. […] Like Samuel Butler’s literary Nausicaa, Gerty is writing her own epic with the only linguistic tools she possesses, a vocabulary and syntax borrowed from her favorite romance novels and ubiquitous advertisements.

(Cynthia Hornbeck. “Greekly Imperfect: The Homeric Origins of Joyce’s ‘Nausicaa’”, 2009, pp. 94, 95.)

Hornbeck korostaa myös epäsuhtaa "Nausikaa"-jakson päähenkilöiden välillä: faiakilaisten kuninkaan Alkinoon nuori tytär on tullut ikään, jossa olisi aika astua avioon, mutta yksikään saaren kosijoista ei miellytä "korskeaa" neitoa (Od. 6.283-284); Nausikaa tuo enemmän tai vähemmän epäsuorasti tämän tilanteen ja sen, että muukalainen miellyttää häntä, Odysseuksen tietoon; Odysseukselle tämä eroottisesti latautunut kohtaaminen kuninkaantyttären kanssa tarkoittaa kuitenkin ensisijaisesti vain tilaisuutta saada mahdollisesti saarelaisilta apua jatkaakseen kotimatkaansa vaimonsa Penelopen luo.

Kohtaamisen eroottisuus tietenkin korostuu, aina irvokkuuteen asti, Joycen "Nausikaa"-episodissa, ja epäilemättä Gertyn romanttiset haaveet, eroottiset toiveet tai, kuten Hornbeckin tekstissä, seksuaaliset halut ovat Joycen Odysseuksessa jotakin, mikä tämän modernin Odysseuksen täytyy ohittaa, minkä täytyy jäädä omaan episodiinsa; häiritsevä tekijä, siinä missä Bloomin vaimon Mollyn haureelliset halut jotka muodostavat selkeästi vakavimman esteen Bloomin pyrkimyksille; Hornbeckin vahva luenta Gertyn hahmosta kuitenkin osoittaa, ettei tämä ole niin vain sivuutettavissa.

Gerty ei toki kerro itse tarinaansa, mutta "Nausikaa"-jakson kerronta ja tyyli ilman muuta heijastelevat hänen maailmaansa, tunteitaan ja sitä kieltä, joka nuorella dublinilaisneidolla on käytettävissään; Gerty epäilemättä tahtoisi itsestään kerrottavan siten, kuin "Nausikaa"-episodin alkupuoli hänestä kertoo – ehkä senkin vuoksi, ettei oikein paremmastakaan tiedä (95). Samaan tapaan kuin voimme ajatella, että Stephen Dedalus aiemmin samalla rannalla "kirjoitti" mielessään kokemustaan, ikään kuin "simultaanitulkkasi" sitä kirjalliselle kielelle samalla kun kokemus kuitenkin pakeni häneltä Proteuksen lailla, myös Gertyn kokemus välittyy ikään kuin hänelle ominaisessa tyylilajissa, ikään kuin hän kirjoittaisi mielessään kokemustaan viihteellisen kertomuksen muotoon. Fokalisaatio siis toteutuu tässä (muun muassa) tyylillisen parodian välityksellä. Hornbeck kuitenkin viittaa näkemyksiin, joiden mukaan tässä Gertyn fokalisoimassa (eli hänen näkökulmastaan kerrotussa) jaksossa on tiettyjä huomionarvoisia poikkeuksia, tyylillisiä säröjä tai "lipsahduksia [lapses]" (94). Ne antavat ymmärtää, että Gerty saattaisi kenties olla murtautumaisillaan ulos siitä muotista, jonka hän on osittain – mutta vain osittain – itsekin itselleen omaksunut.

Samaan tapaan Odysseian Nausikaa antaa merkkejä "korskeaksikin" mainitusta itsenäisyydestään:

Through speech, Nausicaa tests the limits of her position in society. Aware of her own sexuality, she—like Gerty—is not afraid to act upon that drive. (98)

Hornbeck osoittaa vakuuttavasti, että Gertyn ajatukset heijastavat hyvinkin uskollisesti Nausikaan monologia (Od. 6.255-288).

Much of Nausicaa’s monologue is reflected in Gerty’s thoughts. Although Bloom is a Dubliner, Gerty imagines him as foreign because of his "dark eyes and pale intellectual face" (U 13.415–16), more attractive to her because he seems exotic. Her imagination then catches fire easily. Gerty envisions Bloom as her "dreamhusband because she knew on the instant it was him" (U 13.431) and imagines that they will be together "from this to this day forward" (U 13.217–18). Indeed, Odysseus’ description of ὁμοφροσύνη [homophrosune, ‘like-mindedness’] is reflected in Gerty’s dreams of domestic joy: "Her every effort would be to share his thoughts. Dearer than the whole world would she be to him and gild his days with happiness" (U 13.654–5). Just as Nausicaa speaks of her disdain for careless women, the narration says of Gerty: "From everything in the least indelicate her finebred nature instinctively recoiled. She loathed that sort of person, the fallen woman off the accommodation walk beside the Dodder that went with the soldiers and coarse men" (U 13.660–2). (98)

Hornbeck löytää "Nausikaa"-episodista "romanttisen tragedian" ainekset:

The tragedy is that romance is all that either Gerty or Nausicaa can aspire to. They are preoccupied with marriage and romantic love because such things define feminine existence. Odysseus and Bloom can wander, debate, and fight; the girls can only hope for a harmonious marriage. (100)

Homer, Odyssey 6.100–9, cit. Cynthia Hornbeck, Greekly Imperfect, 100-101

Od. 6:

Homer, Odyssey 6.131–6 and Cynthia Hornbeck, Greekly Imperfect, 101–102

Cynthia Hornbeck. “Greekly Imperfect: The Homeric Origins of Joyce’s ‘Nausicaa’.” Joyce Studies Annual 2009, no. 1 (2009): 89-108. (accessed April 7, 2012), here pp. 100–102.

Cynthia Hornbeckin filologisesti pätevä ja oivaltava, näkemyksellinen luenta syvensi omaa näkemystäni "Nausikaa"-episodista yllättävällä tavalla: Gerty MacDowell ei ole Bloomin himokkaan katseen pahaa-aavistamaton uhri, vaan tämä sanaton kohtaaminen heidän välillään perustuu hiljaiseen yhteisymmärrykseen, jopa syvemmin kuin Bloom aavistaakaan – Gerty ei ole pelkkä objekti joka altistuu ja alistuu vanhemman miehen katseelle, vaan tietoinen osapuoli "romanttisessa kohtaamisessa" jossa on kyse molemminpuolisesta soveliaisuuden rajojen rikkomisesta, transgressiosta.

Hornbeckin mukaan "[Homeroksen] Odysseia ei ole yksinkertainen tai kohottava runoteos; se kohtaa jokapäiväisen ihmisenä olemisen kompleksisuuden pitkälti samalla tavalla kuin [Joycen] Ulysses – vailla pelkoa. ’Nausikaa’-episodissa Joyce on niin ollen luonut tarinan joka on hyvin kreikkalainen, esittäessään romanttisen kohtaamisen joka ei ole laisinkaan täydellinen" (104). Hornbeckin kiehtova, yllättävä näkemys Joycen ja Homeroksen Nausikaa-hahmojen yhtäläisyyksistä painottaa siis sellaista kuvaa kreikkalaisuudesta, joka ei ole "klassisen" täydellinen, vaan pikemminkin "romanttisen" epätäydellinen.

Gerty MacDowellin esiintyminen "Kirke"-episodissa

"Nausikaa"-jakson tragikoominen huumori on varsin julmaa – mutta Hornbeckin (kenties epätäydellinen) luenta on, kuten näimme, omiaan löytämään tämän julkeuden ja julmuuden takaa jotain syvästi inhimillistä. Bloomin ja Gerty MacDowellin suhde näyttäytyy kuitenkin hieman toisenlaisessa valossa myöhemmin, Joycen teoksen kahdennessatoista episodissa joka on saanut otsikon "Kirke". Tämä Gertyn paluu näyttämölle ei kuitenkaan välttämättä kumoa Hornbeckin luentaa, vaan pikemminkin syventää sen antamaa kuvaa ja tekee tilanteesta entistäkin moniulotteisemman.

Gerty MacDowell palaa "Kirke"-episodissa näyttämölle, sananmukaisestikin sikäli, että tuo jakso on esitetty draaman muodossa. "Kirke"-jakso on, kuten Riikonen toteaa, paitsi kirjan "sivumääräisesti laajin (suomennoksessa 130 sivua)", myös "kenties vaikeaselkoisin episodi". "Tapahtumapaikkana on bordelli, […]. On keskiyön hetki. […] Taiteena esiintyy magia, symbolina huora ja kirjallisena tekniikkana 'hallusinaatio'. Koska tapahtumat on lähinnä esitetty eri henkilöiden hallusinaatioina ja mielleyhtyminä ja koska myös allegorisia henkilöhahmoja esiintyy, on lopultakin varsin vaikea hahmottaa, mitä jakson kuluessa oikeastaan 'tapahtuu'." (Riikonen, James Joycen Odysseus, s. 106.)

Voisi ehkä ajatella, että Kirke-episodin hallusinaatiot ovat oire Leopold Bloomin huonosta omatunnosta ja kertovat oikeastaan niistä ristiriitaisista kuvitelmista, jotka hän liittää tuon nuoren naisen, Gerty MacDowellin oletettuihin mielenliikkeisiin. Kuten aiemmin kävi ilmi, Bloom ajattelee tyttöä lähestulkoon samanaikaisesti sekä "pikku noitana" että eräänlaisena pyhänä neitsyenä: "Mutta noissa silmissä oli äärettömästi anteeksiantamusta, hänellekin laupeuden sana vaikka hän oli erehtynyt ja syntiä tehnyt ja vaeltanut." Olettaisin siis, että se joka seuraavassa puhuu sekä Gerty MacDowellin että parittajan että Bloomin suulla on loppujen lopuksi Bloomin oma huono omatunto ja hänen tragikoominen seksuaalisuutensa:

(Virnuillen Gerty MacDowell ontuu esiin. Hän vetää takaa verisen rätin, keimailee ja näyttää sitä häveliäästi.)


Kaiken maallisen hyväni minä sinulle ja sinä. (Hän mumisee.) Sinä teit sen. Minä vihaan sinua.


Minä? Koska? Sinä näet unia. Minä en ole koskaan nähnyt sinua.


Anna herran olla rauhassa, senkin huiputtaja. Kirjoittaa nyt herralle vääriä kirjeitä. Kadulla huoraamassa ja kerjäämässä. Parasta olisi kun äitis köyttäis sinut kiinni sängyntolppaan, tuollainen heitukka.


(Bloomille.) Kun sinä näit kaikki minun alimman laatikkoni salaisuudet. (Hän hyväilee Bloomin hihaa, nyyhkyttää.) Tuhma aviomies. Minusta on niin ihanaa kun sinä teit sen minulle. (Hän liukuu kiemurrellen tiehensä. [...]

(Saarikosken suom. s. 429.)

"Sanojen varjot": monologi ja tajunnanvirta

Vladimir Nabokov on esittänyt Joycen "muutoin niin suurenmoisista sisäisistä yksinpuheluista", joista äärimmäinen esimerkki on Odysseuksen päättävä pitkä tajunnanvirtajakso, Molly Bloomin kuuluisa sisäinen monologi joka muodostaa "Penelope"-episodin, seuraavanlaisen kriittisen kommentin:

We think not in words but in shadows of words. James Joyce’s mistake in those otherwise marvelous mental soliloquies of his consists in that he gives too much verbal body to thoughts (Vladimir Nabokov)

Nabokov on epäilemättä aivan oikeassa sen psykologisen havainnon suhteen, että meidän "tajunnanvirtamme" koostuu pikemminkin "sanojen varjoista" kuin sanoista eli on suurelta osin pikemminkin nonverbaalista (sanatonta) tai esiverbaalista kuin sanallista "yksinpuhelua". Nabokovin mukaan Joyce siis sanallistaa, verbalisoi mielenliikkeitä liikaa tai epätodenmukaisesti kuvatessaan niitä sisäisen monologin tai tajunnanvirran keinoin. Tähän kritiikkiin tuntuu sisältyvän oletus, että Joyce pyrkii kuvauksessaan "realismiin", todenmukaiseen tai todennäköiseen kuvaukseen psyykkisistä prosesseista.

Täytyy kuitenkin huomata, ettei kyseessä ole tutkielma vaan taideteos. Mitä muuta kirjailija voisikaan tehdä kuin sanallistaa, verbalisoida? Molly Bloomin sielunelämä on Joycen fiktiivistä materiaalia, hänen käytössään olevaa mielikuvituksen "raaka-ainetta" jota hän taiteilijana muokkaa, ainesta jolle hän antaa kirjallisen muodon.

Kysymys ei siis ehkä olekaan todellisuuden jäljentämisestä tai edes jäljittelystä, vaan pikemminkin taiteellisen muodon antamisesta sille materiaalille, jota voi kutsua ulkoiseksi tai sisäiseksi todellisuudeksi. "Realismi" on tässä yhtä lailla niin "romanttista" kuin "klassistakin", tai "klassismi" "romanttista" ja "realistista", tai "romanttinen" "realistista" ja "klassista": modernismi on näiden momenttien dialektiikkaa.

Taiteilijan tehtävä ei ole "toistaa" todellisuutta uskollisesti vaan tehdä todellisuus, tai kokemus todellisuudesta, tai kokemuksen todellisuus tietoiseksi itsestään, "pakottaa" se muotoon.

Siispä, vielä kerran, lainaus Stephen Dedalusin päiväkirjasta:

Welcome, O life, I go to encounter for the millionth time the reality of experience and to forge in the smithy of my soul the uncreated conscience of my race.

"Miljoonannen kerran" ja aina uudelleen kuitenkin vain kerran: taiteilijan "sielun sepänpajassa" (sisällöltään aina "sama" ja oletettavasti "kaikille" yhteinenkin, miljoonan sielun muodostaman "rodun" enemmän tai vähemmän jakama) kokemus saa ainutlaatuisen, ainutkertaisen muotonsa.



James Joyce

↓ Leopold Bloom Joycen piirtämänä. Kreikankielinen teksti (ἄνδρα μοι ἔννεπε, μοῦσα, πολύτροπον, ὃς μάλα πολλὰ) on Odysseian ensimmäinen säe, joka Otto Mannisen suomennoksena kuuluu "Retkiä miehen kekseliään, runoneito, sa kerro".

↑ "Rehvakkaan oloinen nuori James Joyce ansarin edustalla" (Aamulehden kuvateksti).

Uusista suomennoksista, ks. Hannu Sarrala, "James Joyce: Dublinilaisia, Pyhä, rivo rakkaus ja Kamarimusiikkia" (Aamulehti 30.3.2012).

Joyce's caricature of Leopold Bloom




Joyce, Ulysses, Penelope episode, incipit


James Joyce, Ulysses, Episode 18 ("Penelope")
Eve Arnold, Marilyn Reading Ulysses
Detail from Eve Arnold, Marilyn Reading Ulysses (1955)

Yes because he never did a thing like that before as ask to get his breakfast in bed with a couple of eggs since the City Arms hotel when he used to be pretending to be laid up with a sick voice doing his highness to make himself interesting for that old faggot Mrs Riordan that he thought he had a great leg of and she never left us a farthing all for masses for herself and her soul greatest miser ever was actually afraid to lay out 4d for her methylated spirit telling me all her ailments she had too much old chat in her about politics and earthquakes and the end of the world let us have a bit of fun first God help the world if all the women were her sort down on bathingsuits and lownecks of course nobody wanted her to wear them I suppose she was pious because no man would look at her twice I hope Ill never be like her a wonder she didnt want us to cover our faces but she was a welleducated woman certainly and her gabby talk about Mr Riordan here and Mr Riordan there I suppose he was glad to get shut of her and her dog smelling my fur and always edging to get up under my petticoats especially then still I like that in him polite to old women like that and waiters and beggars too hes not proud out of nothing but not always if ever he got anything really serious the matter with him its much better for them to go into a hospital where everything is clean but I suppose Id have to dring it into him for a month yes and then wed have a hospital nurse next thing on the carpet have him staying there till they throw him out or a nun maybe like the smutty photo he has shes as much a nun as Im not yes because theyre so weak and puling when theyre sick they want a woman to get well if his nose bleeds youd think it was O tragic and that dyinglooking one off the south circular when he sprained his foot at the choir party at the sugarloaf Mountain the day I wore that dress Miss Stack bringing him flowers the worst old ones she could find at the bottom of the basket anything at all to get into a mans bedroom with her old maids voice trying to imagine he was dying on account of her to never see thy face again though he looked more like a man with his beard a bit grown in the bed father was the same besides I hate bandaging and dosing when he cut his toe with the razor paring his corns afraid hed get bloodpoisoning but if it was a thing I was sick then wed see what attention only of course the woman hides it not to give all the trouble they do yes he came somewhere Im sure by his appetite anyway love its not or hed be off his feed thinking of her so either it was one of those night women if it was down there he was really and the hotel story he made up a pack of lies to hide it planning it Hynes kept me who did I meet ah yes I met do you remember Menton and who else who let me see that big babbyface I saw him and he not long married flirting with a young girl at Pooles Myriorama and turned my back on him when he slinked out looking quite conscious what harm but he had the impudence to make up to me one time well done to him mouth almighty and his boiled eyes of all the big stupoes I ever met and thats called a solicitor only for I hate having a long wrangle in bed or else if its not that its some little bitch or other he got in with somewhere or picked up on the sly if they only knew him as well as I do yes because the day before yesterday he was scribbling something a letter when I came into the front room to show him Dignams death in the paper as if something told me and he covered it up with the blottingpaper pretending to be thinking about business so very probably that was it to somebody who thinks she has a softy in him because all men get a bit like that at his age especially getting on to forty he is now so as to wheedle any money she can out of him no fool like an old fool and then the usual kissing my bottom was to hide it not that I care two straws now who he does it with or knew before that way though Id like to find out so long as I dont have the two of them under my nose all the time like that slut that Mary we had in Ontario terrace padding out her false bottom to excite him bad enough to get the smell of those painted women off him once or twice I had a suspicion by getting him to come near me when I found the long hair on his coat without that one when I went into the kitchen pretending he was drinking water 1 woman is not enough for them it was all his fault of course ruining servants then proposing that she could eat at our table on Christmas day if you please O no thank you not in my house stealing my potatoes and the oysters 2/6 per doz going out to see her aunt if you please common robbery so it was but I was sure he had something on with that one it takes me to find out a thing like that he said you have no proof it was her proof O yes her aunt was very fond of oysters but I told her what I thought of her suggesting me to go out to be alone with her I wouldnt lower myself to spy on them the garters I found in her room the Friday she was out that was enough for me a little bit too much her face swelled up on her with temper when I gave her her weeks notice I saw to that better do without them altogether do out the rooms myself quicker only for the damn cooking and throwing out the dirt I gave it to him anyhow either she or me leaves the house I couldnt even touch him if I thought he was with a dirty barefaced liar and sloven like that one denying it up to my face and singing about the place in the W C too because she knew she was too well off yes because he couldnt possibly do without it that long so he must do it somewhere and the last time he came on my bottom when was it the night Boylan gave my hand a great squeeze going along by the Tolka in my hand there steals another I just pressed the back of his like that with my thumb to squeeze back singing the young May moon shes beaming love because he has an idea about him and me hes not such a fool he said Im dining out and going to the Gaiety though Im not going to give him the satisfaction in any case God knows hes a change in a way not to be always and ever wearing the same old hat unless I paid some nicelooking boy to do it since I cant do it myself a young boy would like me Id confuse him a little alone with him if we were Id let him see my garters the new ones and make him turn red looking at him seduce him I know what boys feel with that down on their cheek doing that frigging drawing out the thing by the hour question and answer would you do this that and the other with the coalman yes with a bishop yes I would because I told him about some dean or bishop was sitting beside me in the jews temples gardens when I was knitting that woollen thing a stranger to Dublin what place was it and so on about the monuments and he tired me out with statues encouraging him making him worse than he is who is in your mind now tell me who are you thinking of who is it tell me his name who tell me who the german Emperor is it yes imagine Im him think of him can you feel him trying to make a whore of me what he never will he ought to give it up now at this age of his life simply ruination for any woman and no satisfaction in it pretending to like it till he comes and then finish it off myself anyway and it makes your lips pale anyhow its done now once and for all with all the talk of the world about it people make its only the first time after that its just the ordinary do it and think no more about it why cant you kiss a man without going and marrying him first you sometimes love to wildly when you feel that way so nice all over you you cant help yourself I wish some man or other would take me sometime when hes there and kiss me in his arms theres nothing like a kiss long and hot down to your soul almost paralyses you then I hate that confession when I used to go to Father Corrigan he touched me father and what harm if he did where and I said on the canal bank like a fool but whereabouts on your person my child on the leg behind high up was it yes rather high up was it where you sit down yes O Lord couldnt he say bottom right out and have done with it what has that got to do with it and did you whatever way he put it I forget no father and I always think of the real father what did he want to know for when I already confessed it to God he had a nice fat hand the palm moist always I wouldnt mind feeling it neither would he Id say by the bullneck in his horsecollar I wonder did he know me in the box I could see his face he couldnt see mine of course hed never turn or let on still his eyes were red when his father died theyre lost for a woman of course must be terrible when a man cries let alone them Id like to be embraced by one in his vestments and the smell of incense off him like the pope besides theres no danger with a priest if youre married hes too careful about himself then give something to H H the pope for a penance I wonder was he satisfied with me one thing I didnt like his slapping me behind going away so familiarly in the hall though I laughed Im not a horse or an ass am I I suppose he was thinking of his fathers I wonder is he awake thinking of me or dreaming am I in it who gave him that flower he said he bought he smelt of some kind of drink not whisky or stout or perhaps the sweety kind of paste they stick their bills up with some liqueur Id like to sip those richlooking green and yellow expensive drinks those stagedoor johnnies drink with the opera hats I tasted once with my finger dipped out of that American that had the squirrel talking stamps with father he had all he could do to keep himself from falling asleep after the last time after we took the port and potted meat it had a fine salty taste yes because I felt lovely and tired myself and fell asleep as sound as a top the moment I popped straight into bed till that thunder woke me up God be merciful to us I thought the heavens were coming down about us to punish us when I blessed myself and said a Hail Mary like those awful thunderbolts in Gibraltar as if the world was coming to an end and then they come and tell you theres no God what could you do if it was running and rushing about nothing only make an act of contrition the candle I lit that evening in Whitefriars street chapel for the month of May see it brought its luck though hed scoff if he heard because he never goes to church mass or meeting he says your soul you have no soul inside only grey matter because he doesnt know what it is to have one yes when I lit the lamp because he must have come 3 or 4 times with that tremendous big red brute of a thing he has I thought the vein or whatever the dickens they call it was going to burst though his nose is not so big after I took off all my things with the blinds down after my hours dressing and perfuming and combing it like iron or some kind of a thick crowbar standing all the time he must have eaten oysters I think a few dozen he was in great singing voice no I never in all my life felt anyone had one the size of that to make you feel full up he must have eaten a whole sheep after whats the idea making us like that with a big hole in the middle of us or like a Stallion driving it up into you because thats all they want out of you with that determined vicious look in his eye I had to halfshut my eyes still he hasnt such a tremendous amount of spunk in him when I made him pull out and do it on me considering how big it is so much the better in case any of it wasnt washed out properly the last time I let him finish it in me nice invention they made for women for him to get all the pleasure but if someone gave them a touch of it themselves theyd know what I went through with Milly nobody would believe cutting her teeth too and Mina Purefoys husband give us a swing out of your whiskers filling her up with a child or twins once a year as regular as the clock always with a smell of children off her the one they called budgers or something like a nigger with a shock of hair on it Jesusjack the child is a black the last time I was there a squad of them falling over one another and bawling you couldnt hear your ears supposed to be healthy not satisfied till they have us swollen out like elephants or I dont know what supposing I risked having another not off him though still if he was married Im sure hed have a fine strong child but I dont know Poldy has more spunk in him yes thatd be awfully jolly I suppose it was meeting Josie Powell and the funeral and thinking about me and Boylan set him off well he can think what he likes now if thatll do him any good I know they were spooning a bit when I came on the scene he was dancing and sitting out with her the night of Georgina Simpsons housewarming and then he wanted to ram it down my neck it was on account of not liking to see her a wallflower that was why we had the standup row over politics he began it not me when he said about Our Lord being a carpenter at last he made me cry of course a woman is so sensitive about everything I was fuming with myself after for giving in only for I knew he was gone on me and the first socialist he said He was he annoyed me so much I couldnt put him into a temper still he knows a lot of mixedup things especially about the body and the inside I often wanted to study up that myself what we have inside us in that family physician I could always hear his voice talking when the room was crowded and watch him after that I pretended I had a coolness on with her over him because he used to be a bit on the jealous side whenever he asked who are you going to and I said over to Floey and he made me the present of Byron's poems and the three pairs of gloves so that finished that I could quite easily get him to make it up any time I know how Id even supposing he got in with her again and was going out to see her somewhere Id know if he refused to eat the onions I know plenty of ways ask him to tuck down the collar of my blouse or touch him with my veil and gloves on going out I kiss then would send them all spinning however alright well see then let him go to her she of course would only be too delighted to pretend shes mad in love with him that I wouldnt so much mind Id just go to her and ask her do you love him and look her square in the eyes she couldnt fool me but he might imagine he was and make a declaration to her with his plabbery kind of a manner like he did to me though I had the devils own job to get it out of him though I liked him for that it showed he could hold in and wasnt to be got for the asking he was on the pop of asking me too the night in the kitchen I was rolling the potato cake theres something I want to say to you only for I put him off letting on I was in a temper with my hands and arms full of pasty flour in any case I let out too much the night before talking of dreams so I didnt want to let him know more than was good for him she used to be always embracing me Josie whenever he was there meaning him of course glauming me over and when I said I washed up and down as far as possible asking me and did you wash possible the women are always egging on to that putting it on thick when hes there they know by his sly eye blinking a bit putting on the indifferent when they come out with something the kind he is what spoils him I dont wonder in the least because he was very handsome at that time trying to look like Lord Byron I said I liked though he was too beautiful for a man and he was a little before we got engaged afterwards though she didnt like it so much the day I was in fits of laughing with the giggles I couldnt stop about all my hairpins falling out one after another with the mass of hair I had youre always in great humour she said yes because it grigged her because she knew what it meant because I used to tell her a good bit of what went on between us not all but just enough to make her mouth water but that wasnt my fault she didnt darken the door much after we were married I wonder what shes got like now after living with that dotty husband of hers she had her face beginning to look drawn and run down the last time I saw her she must have been just after a row with him because I saw on the moment she was edging to draw down a conversation about husbands and talk about him to run him down what was it she told me O yes that sometimes he used to go to bed with his muddy boots on when the maggot takes him just imagine having to get into bed with a thing like that that might murder you any moment what a man well its not the one way everyone goes mad Poldy anyhow whatever he does always wipes his feet on the mat when he comes in wet or shine and always blacks his own boots too and he always takes off his hat when he comes up in the street like then and now hes going about in his slippers to look for 10000 pounds for a postcard U p up O sweetheart May wouldnt a thing like that simply bore you stiff to extinction actually too stupid even to take his boots off now what could you make of a man like that Id rather die 20 times over than marry another of their sex of course hed never find another woman like me to put up with him the way I do know me come sleep with me yes and he knows that too at the bottom of his heart take that Mrs Maybrick that poisoned her husband for what I wonder in love with some other man yes it was found out on her wasnt she the downright villain to go and do a thing like that of course some men can be dreadfully aggravating drive you mad and always the worst word in the world what do they ask us to marry them for if were so bad as all that comes to yes because they cant get on without us white Arsenic she put in his tea off flypaper wasnt it I wonder why they call it that if I asked him hed say its from the Greek leave us as wise as we were before she must have been madly in love with the other fellow to run the chance of being hanged O she didnt care if that was her nature what could she do besides theyre not brutes enough to go and hang a woman surely are they

theyre all so different Boylan talking about the shape of my foot he noticed at once even before he was introduced when I was in the D B C with Poldy laughing and trying to listen I was waggling my foot we both ordered 2 teas and plain bread and butter I saw him looking with his two old maids of sisters when I stood up and asked the girl where it was what do I care with it dropping out of me and that black closed breeches he made me buy takes you half an hour to let them down wetting all myself always with some brandnew fad every other week such a long one I did I forgot my suede gloves on the seat behind that I never got after some robber of a woman and he wanted me to put it in the Irish times lost in the ladies lavatory D B C Dame street finder return to Mrs Marion Bloom and I saw his eyes on my feet going out through the turning door he was looking when I looked back and I went there for tea 2 days after in the hope but he wasnt now how did that excite him because I was crossing them when we were in the other room first he meant the shoes that are too tight to walk in my hand is nice like that if I only had a ring with the stone for my month a nice aquamarine Ill stick him for one and a gold bracelet I dont like my foot so much still I made him spend once with my foot the night after Goodwins botchup of a concert so cold and windy it was well we had that rum in the house to mull and the fire wasnt black out when he asked to take off my stockings lying on the hearthrug in Lombard street west and another time it was my muddy boots hed like me to walk in all the horses dung I could find but of course hes not natural like the rest of the world that I what did he say I could give 9 points in 10 to Katty Lanner and beat her what does that mean I asked him I forget what he said because the stoppress edition just passed and the man with the curly hair in the Lucan dairy thats so polite I think I saw his face before somewhere I noticed him when I was tasting the butter so I took my time Bartell dArcy too that he used to make fun of when he commenced kissing me on the choir stairs after I sang Gounods Ave Maria what are we waiting for O my heart kiss me straight on the brow and part which is my brown part he was pretty hot for all his tinny voice too my low notes he was always raving about if you can believe him I liked the way he used his mouth singing then he said wasnt it terrible to do that there in a place like that I dont see anything so terrible about it Ill tell him about that some day not now and surprise him ay and Ill take him there and show him the very place too we did it so now there you are like it or lump it he thinks nothing can happen without him knowing he hadnt an idea about my mother till we were engaged otherwise hed never have got me so cheap as he did he was lo times worse himself anyhow begging me to give him a tiny bit cut off my drawers that was the evening coming along Kenilworth square he kissed me in the eye of my glove and I had to take it off asking me questions is it permitted to enquire the shape of my bedroom so I let him keep it as if I forgot it to think of me when I saw him slip it into his pocket of course hes mad on the subject of drawers thats plain to be seen always skeezing at those brazenfaced things on the bicycles with their skirts blowing up to their navels even when Milly and I were out with him at the open air fete that one in the cream muslin standing right against the sun so he could see every atom she had on when he saw me from behind following in the rain I saw him before he saw me however standing at the corner of the Harolds cross road with a new raincoat on him with the muffler in the Zingari colours to show off his complexion and the brown hat looking slyboots as usual what was he doing there where hed no business they can go and get whatever they like from anything at all with a skirt on it and were not to ask any questions but they want to know where were you where are you going I could feel him coming along skulking after me his eyes on my neck he had been keeping away from the house he felt it was getting too warm for him so I halfturned and stopped then he pestered me to say yes till I took off my glove slowly watching him he said my openwork sleeves were too cold for the rain anything for an excuse to put his hand anear me drawers drawers the whole blessed time till I promised to give him the pair off my doll to carry about in his waistcoat pocket O Maria Santisima he did look a big fool dreeping in the rain splendid set of teeth he had made me hungry to look at them and beseeched of me to lift the orange petticoat I had on with the sunray pleats that there was nobody he said hed kneel down in the wet if I didnt so persevering he would too and ruin his new raincoat you never know what freak theyd take alone with you theyre so savage for it if anyone was passing so I lifted them a bit and touched his trousers outside the way I used to Gardner after with my ring hand to keep him from doing worse where it was too public I was dying to find out was he circumcised he was shaking like a jelly all over they want to do everything too quick take all the pleasure out of it and father waiting all the time for his dinner he told me to say I left my purse in the butchers and had to go back for it what a Deceiver then he wrote me that letter with all those words in it how could he have the face to any woman after his company manners making it so awkward after when we met asking me have I offended you with my eyelids down of course he saw I wasnt he had a few brains not like that other fool Henny Doyle he was always breaking or tearing something in the charades I hate an unlucky man and if I knew what it meant of course I had to say no for form sake dont understand you I said and wasnt it natural so it is of course it used to be written up with a picture of a womans on that wall in Gibraltar with that word I couldnt find anywhere only for children seeing it too young then writing every morning a letter sometimes twice a day I liked the way he made love then he knew the way to take a woman when he sent me the 8 big poppies because mine was the 8th then I wrote the night he kissed my heart at Dolphins barn I couldnt describe it simply it makes you feel like nothing on earth but he never knew how to embrace well like Gardner I hope hell come on Monday as he said at the same time four I hate people who come at all hours answer the door you think its the vegetables then its somebody and you all undressed or the door of the filthy sloppy kitchen blows open the day old frostyface Goodwin called about the concert in Lombard street and I just after dinner all flushed and tossed with boiling old stew dont look at me professor I had to say Im a fright yes but he was a real old gent in his way it was impossible to be more respectful nobody to say youre out you have to peep out through the blind like the messengerboy today I thought it was a putoff first him sending the port and the peaches first and I was just beginning to yawn with nerves thinking he was trying to make a fool of me when I knew his tattarrattat at the door he must have been a bit late because it was l/4 after 3 when I saw the 2 Dedalus girls coming from school I never know the time even that watch he gave me never seems to go properly Id want to get it looked after when I threw the penny to that lame sailor for England home and beauty when I was whistling there is a charming girl I love and I hadnt even put on my clean shift or powdered myself or a thing then this day week were to go to Belfast just as well he has to go to Ennis his fathers anniversary the 27th it wouldnt be pleasant if he did suppose our rooms at the hotel were beside each other and any fooling went on in the new bed I couldnt tell him to stop and not bother me with him in the next room or perhaps some protestant clergyman with a cough knocking on the wall then hed never believe the next day we didnt do something its all very well a husband but you cant fool a lover after me telling him we never did anything of course he didnt believe me no its better hes going where he is besides something always happens with him the time going to the Mallow concert at Maryborough ordering boiling soup for the two of us then the bell rang out he walks down the platform with the soup splashing about taking spoonfuls of it hadnt he the nerve and the waiter after him making a holy show of us screeching and confusion for the engine to start but he wouldnt pay till he finished it the two gentlemen in the 3rd class carriage said he was quite right so he was too hes so pigheaded sometimes when he gets a thing into his head a good job he was able to open the carriage door with his knife or theyd have taken us on to Cork I suppose that was done out of revenge on him O I love jaunting in a train or a car with lovely soft cushions I wonder will he take a 1st class for me he might want to do it in the train by tipping the guard well O I suppose therell be the usual idiots of men gaping at us with their eyes as stupid as ever they can possibly be that was an exceptional man that common workman that left us alone in the carriage that day going to Howth Id like to find out something about him l or 2 tunnels perhaps then you have to look out of the window all the nicer then coming back suppose I never came back what would they say eloped with him that gets you on on the stage the last concert I sang at where its over a year ago when was it St Teresas hall Clarendon St little chits of missies they have now singing Kathleen Kearney and her like on account of father being in the army and my singing the absentminded beggar and wearing a brooch for Lord Roberts when I had the map of it all and Poldy not Irish enough was it him managed it this time I wouldnt put it past him like he got me on to sing in the Stabat Mater by going around saying he was putting Lead Kindly Light to music I put him up to that till the jesuits found out he was a freemason thumping the piano lead Thou me on copied from some old opera yes and he was going about with some of them Sinner Fein lately or whatever they call themselves talking his usual trash and nonsense he says that little man he showed me without the neck is very intelligent the coming man Griffiths is he well he doesnt look it thats all I can say still it must have been him he knew there was a boycott I hate the mention of their politics after the war that Pretoria and Ladysmith and Bloemfontein where Gardner lieut Stanley G 8th Bn 2nd East Lancs Rgt of enteric fever he was a lovely fellow in khaki and just the right height over me Im sure he was brave too he said I was lovely the evening we kissed goodbye at the canal lock my Irish beauty he was pale with excitement about going away or wed be seen from the road he couldnt stand properly and I so hot as I never felt they could have made their peace in the beginning or old oom Paul and the rest of the other old Krugers go and fight it out between them instead of dragging on for years killing any finelooking men there were with their fever if he was even decently shot it wouldnt have been so bad I love to see a regiment pass in review the first time I saw the Spanish cavalry at La Roque it was lovely after looking across the bay from Algeciras all the lights of the rock like fireflies or those sham battles on the 15 acres the Black Watch with their kilts in time at the march past the 10th hussars the prince of Wales own or the lancers O the lancers theyre grand or the Dublins that won Tugela his father made his money over selling the horses for the cavalry well he could buy me a nice present up in Belfast after what I gave him theyve lovely linen up there or one of those nice kimono things I must buy a mothball like I had before to keep in the drawer with them it would be exciting going round with him shopping buying those things in a new city better leave this ring behind want to keep turning and turning to get it over the knuckle there or they might bell it round the town in their papers or tell the police on me but theyd think were married O let them all go and smother themselves for the fat lot I care he has plenty of money and hes not a marrying man so somebody better get it out of him if I could find out whether he likes me I looked a bit washy of course when I looked close in the handglass powdering a mirror never gives you the expression besides scrooching down on me like that all the time with his big hipbones hes heavy too with his hairy chest for this heat always having to lie down for them better for him put it into me from behind the way Mrs Mastiansky told me her husband made her like the dogs do it and stick out her tongue as far as ever she could and he so quiet and mild with his tingating cither can you ever be up to men the way it takes them lovely stuff in that blue suit he had on and stylish tie and socks with the skyblue silk things on them hes certainly well off I know by the cut his clothes have and his heavy watch but he was like a perfect devil for a few minutes after he came back with the stoppress tearing up the tickets and swearing blazes because he lost 20 quid he said he lost over that outsider that won and half he put on for me on account of Lenehans tip cursing him to the lowest pits that sponger he was making free with me after the Glencree dinner coming back that long joult over the featherbed mountain after the lord Mayor looking at me with his dirty eyes Val Dillon that big heathen I first noticed him at dessert when I was cracking the nuts with my teeth I wished I could have picked every morsel of that chicken out of my fingers it was so tasty and browned and as tender as anything only for I didnt want to eat everything on my plate those forks and fishslicers were hallmarked silver too I wish I had some I could easily have slipped a couple into my muff when I was playing with them then always hanging out of them for money in a restaurant for the bit you put down your throat we have to be thankful for our mangy cup of tea itself as a great compliment to be noticed the way the world is divided in any case if its going to go on I want at least two other good chemises for one thing and but I dont know what kind of drawers he likes none at all I think didnt he say yes and half the girls in Gibraltar never wore them either naked as God made them that Andalusian singing her Manola she didnt make much secret of what she hadnt yes and the second pair of silkette stockings is laddered after one days wear I could have brought them back to Lewers this morning and kicked up a row and made that one change them only not to upset myself and run the risk of walking into him and ruining the whole thing and one of those kidfitting corsets Id want advertised cheap in the Gentlewoman with elastic gores on the hips he saved the one I have but thats no good what did they say they give a delightful figure line 11/6 obviating that unsightly broad appearance across the lower back to reduce flesh my belly is a bit too big Ill have to knock off the stout at dinner or am I getting too fond of it the last they sent from ORourkes was as flat as a pancake he makes his money easy Larry they call him the old mangy parcel he sent at Xmas a cottage cake and a bottle of hogwash he tried to palm off as claret that he couldnt get anyone to drink God spare his spit for fear hed die of the drouth or I must do a few breathing exercises I wonder is that antifat any good might overdo it the thin ones are not so much the fashion now garters that much I have the violet pair I wore today thats all he bought me out of the cheque he got on the first O no there was the face lotion I finished the last of yesterday that made my skin like new I told him over and over again get that made up in the same place and dont forget it God only knows whether he did after all I said to him 111 know by the bottle anyway if not I suppose 111 only have to wash in my piss like beeftea or chickensoup with some of that opoponax and violet I thought it was beginning to look coarse or old a bit the skin underneath is much finer where it peeled off there on my finger after the burn its a pity it isnt all like that and the four paltry handkerchiefs about 6/- in all sure you cant get on in this world without style all going in food and rent when I get it Ill lash it around I tell you in fine style I always want to throw a handful of tea into the pot measuring and mincing if I buy a pair of old brogues itself do you like those new shoes yes how much were they Ive no clothes at all the brown costume and the skirt and jacket and the one at the cleaners 3 whats that for any woman cutting up this old hat and patching up the other the men wont look at you and women try to walk on you because they know youve no man then with all the things getting dearer every day for the 4 years more I have of life up to 35 no Im what am I at all 111 be 33 in September will I what O well look at that Mrs Galbraith shes much older than me I saw her when I was out last week her beautys on the wane she was a lovely woman magnificent head of hair on her down to her waist tossing it back like that like Kitty OShea in Grantham street 1st thing I did every morning to look across see her combing it as if she loved it and was full of it pity I only got to know her the day before we left and that Mrs Langtry the jersey lily the prince of Wales was in love with I suppose hes like the first man going the roads only for the name of a king theyre all made the one way only a black mans Id like to try a beauty up to what was she 45 there was some funny story about the jealous old husband what was it at all and an oyster knife he went no he made her wear a kind of a tin thing round her and the prince of Wales yes he had the oyster knife cant be true a thing like that like some of those books he brings me the works of Master Francois Somebody supposed to be a priest about a child born out of her ear because her bumgut fell out a nice word for any priest to write and her a--e as if any fool wouldnt know what that meant I hate that pretending of all things with that old blackguards face on him anybody can see its not true and that Ruby and Fair Tyrants he brought me that twice I remember when I came to page 5 o the part about where she hangs him up out of a hook with a cord flagellate sure theres nothing for a woman in that all invention made up about he drinking the champagne out of her slipper after the ball was over like the infant Jesus in the crib at Inchicore in the Blessed Virgins arms sure no woman could have a child that big taken out of her and I thought first it came out of her side because how could she go to the chamber when she wanted to and she a rich lady of course she felt honoured H R H he was in Gibraltar the year I was born I bet he found lilies there too where he planted the tree he planted more than that in his time he might have planted me too if hed come a bit sooner then I wouldnt be here as I am he ought to chuck that Freeman with the paltry few shillings he knocks out of it and go into an office or something where hed get regular pay or a bank where they could put him up on a throne to count the money all the day of course he prefers plottering about the house so you cant stir with him any side whats your programme today I wish hed even smoke a pipe like father to get the smell of a man or pretending to be mooching about for advertisements when he could have been in Mr Cuffes still only for what he did then sending me to try and patch it up I could have got him promoted there to be the manager he gave me a great mirada once or twice first he was as stiff as the mischief really and truly Mrs Bloom only I felt rotten simply with the old rubbishy dress that I lost the leads out of the tails with no cut in it but theyre coming into fashion again I bought it simply to please him I knew it was no good by the finish pity I changed my mind of going to Todd and Bums as I said and not Lees it was just like the shop itself rummage sale a lot of trash I hate those rich shops get on your nerves nothing kills me altogether only he thinks he knows a great lot about a womans dress and cooking mathering everything he can scour off the shelves into it if I went by his advices every blessed hat I put on does that suit me yes take that thats alright the one like a weddingcake standing up miles off my head he said suited me or the dishcover one coming down on my backside on pins and needles about the shopgirl in that place in Grafton street I had the misfortune to bring him into and she as insolent as ever she could be with her smirk saying Im afraid were giving you too much trouble what shes there for but I stared it out of her yes he was awfully stiff and no wonder but he changed the second time he looked Poldy pigheaded as usual like the soup but I could see him looking very hard at my chest when he stood up to open the door for me it was nice of him to show me out in any case Im extremely sorry Mrs Bloom believe me without making it too marked the first time after him being insulted and me being supposed to be his wife I just half smiled I know my chest was out that way at the door when he said Im extremely sorry and Im sure you were

yes I think he made them a bit firmer sucking them like that so long he made me thirsty titties he calls them I had to laugh yes this one anyhow stiff the nipple gets for the least thing Ill get him to keep that up and Ill take those eggs beaten up with marsala fatten them out for him what are all those veins and things curious the way its made 2 the same in case of twins theyre supposed to represent beauty placed up there like those statues in the museum one of them pretending to hide it with her hand are they so beautiful of course compared with what a man looks like with his two bags full and his other thing hanging down out of him or sticking up at you like a hatrack no wonder they hide it with a cabbageleaf that disgusting Cameron highlander behind the meat market or that other wretch with the red head behind the tree where the statue of the fish used to be when I was passing pretending he was pissing standing out for me to see it with his babyclothes up to one side the Queens own they were a nice lot its well the Surreys relieved them theyre always trying to show it to you every time nearly I passed outside the mens greenhouse near the Harcourt street station just to try some fellow or other trying to catch my eye as if it was I of the 7 wonders of the world O and the stink of those rotten places the night coming home with Poldy after the Comerfords party oranges and lemonade to make you feel nice and watery I went into r of them it was so biting cold I couldnt keep it when was that 93 the canal was frozen yes it was a few months after a pity a couple of the Camerons werent there to see me squatting in the mens place meadero I tried to draw a picture of it before I tore it up like a sausage or something I wonder theyre not afraid going about of getting a kick or a bang of something there the woman is beauty of course thats admitted when he said I could pose for a picture naked to some rich fellow in Holles street when he lost the job in Helys and I was selling the clothes and strumming in the coffee palace would I be like that bath of the nymph with my hair down yes only shes younger or Im a little like that dirty bitch in that Spanish photo he has nymphs used they go about like that I asked him about her and that word met something with hoses in it and he came out with some jawbreakers about the incarnation he never can explain a thing simply the way a body can understand then he goes and burns the bottom out of the pan all for his Kidney this one not so much theres the mark of his teeth still where he tried to bite the nipple I had to scream out arent they fearful trying to hurt you I had a great breast of milk with Milly enough for two what was the reason of that he said I could have got a pound a week as a wet nurse all swelled out the morning that delicate looking student that stopped in no 28 with the Citrons Penrose nearly caught me washing through the window only for I snapped up the towel to my face that was his studenting hurt me they used to weaning her till he got doctor Brady to give me the belladonna prescription I had to get him to suck them they were so hard he said it was sweeter and thicker than cows then he wanted to milk me into the tea well hes beyond everything I declare somebody ought to put him in the budget if I only could remember the I half of the things and write a book out of it the works of Master Poldy yes and its so much smoother the skin much an hour he was at them Im sure by the clock like some kind of a big infant I had at me they want everything in their mouth all the pleasure those men get out of a woman I can feel his mouth O Lord I must stretch myself I wished he was here or somebody to let myself go with and come again like that I feel all fire inside me or if I could dream it when he made me spend the 2nd time tickling me behind with his finger I was coming for about 5 minutes with my legs round him I had to hug him after O Lord I wanted to shout out all sorts of things fuck or shit or anything at all only not to look ugly or those lines from the strain who knows the way hed take it you want to feel your way with a man theyre not all like him thank God some of them want you to be so nice about it I noticed the contrast he does it and doesnt talk I gave my eyes that look with my hair a bit loose from the tumbling and my tongue between my lips up to him the savage brute Thursday Friday one Saturday two Sunday three O Lord I cant wait till Monday

frseeeeeeeefronnnng train somewhere whistling the strength those engines have in them like big giants and the water rolling all over and out of them all sides like the end of Loves old sweeeetsonnnng the poor men that have to be out all the night from their wives and families in those roasting engines stifling it was today Im glad I burned the half of those old Freemans and Photo Bits leaving things like that lying about hes getting very careless and threw the rest of them up in the W C 111 get him to cut them tomorrow for me instead of having them there for the next year to get a few pence for them have him asking wheres last Januarys paper and all those old overcoats I bundled out of the hall making the place hotter than it is that rain was lovely and refreshing just after my beauty sleep I thought it was going to get like Gibraltar my goodness the heat there before the levanter came on black as night and the glare of the rock standing up in it like a big giant compared with their 3 Rock mountain they think is so great with the red sentries here and there the poplars and they all whitehot and the smell of the rainwater in those tanks watching the sun all the time weltering down on you faded all that lovely frock fathers friend Mrs Stanhope sent me from the B Marche paris what a shame my dearest Doggerina she wrote on it she was very nice whats this her other name was just a p c to tell you I sent the little present have just had a jolly warm bath and feel a very clean dog now enjoyed it wogger she called him wogger wd give anything to be back in Gib and hear you sing Waiting and in old Madrid Concone is the name of those exercises he bought me one of those new some word I couldnt make out shawls amusing things but tear for the least thing still there lovely I think dont you will always think of the lovely teas we had together scrumptious currant scones and raspberry wafers I adore well now dearest Doggerina be sure and write soon kind she left out regards to your father also captain Grove with love yrs affly Hester x x x x x she didnt look a bit married just like a girl he was years older than her wogger he was awfully fond of me when he held down the wire with his foot for me to step over at the bullfight at La Linea when that matador Gomez was given the bulls ear these clothes we have to wear whoever invented them expecting you to walk up Killiney hill then for example at that picnic all staysed up you cant do a blessed thing in them in a crowd run or jump out of the way thats why I was afraid when that other ferocious old Bull began to charge the banderilleros with the sashes and the 2 things in their hats and the brutes of men shouting bravo toro sure the women were as bad in their nice white mantillas ripping all the whole insides out of those poor horses I never heard of such a thing in all my life yes he used to break his heart at me taking off the dog barking in bell lane poor brute and it sick what became of them ever I suppose theyre dead long ago the 2 of them its like all through a mist makes you feel so old I made the scones of course I had everything all to myself then a girl Hester we used to compare our hair mine was thicker than hers she showed me how to settle it at the back when I put it up and whats this else how to make a knot on a thread with the one hand we were like cousins what age was I then the night of the storm I slept in her bed she had her arms round me then we were fighting in the morning with the pillow what fun he was watching me whenever he got an opportunity at the band on the Alameda esplanade when I was with father and captain Grove I looked up at the church first and then at the windows then down and our eyes met I felt something go through me like all needles my eyes were dancing I remember after when I looked at myself in the glass hardly recognised myself the change he was attractive to a girl in spite of his being a little bald intelligent looking disappointed and gay at the same time he was like Thomas in the shadow of Ashlydyat I had a splendid skin from the sun and the excitement like a rose I didnt get a wink of sleep it wouldnt have been nice on account of her but I could have stopped it in time she gave me the Moonstone to read that was the first I read of Wilkie Collins East Lynne I read and the shadow of Ashlydyat Mrs Henry Wood Henry Dunbar by that other woman I lent him afterwards with Mulveys photo in it so as he see I wasnt without and Lord Lytton Eugene Aram Molly bawn she gave me by Mrs Hungerford on account of the name I dont like books with a Molly in them like that one he brought me about the one from Flanders a whore always shoplifting anything she could cloth and stuff and yards of it O this blanket is too heavy on me thats better I havent even one decent nightdress this thing gets all rolled under me besides him and his fooling thats better I used to be weltering then in the heat my shift drenched with the sweat stuck in the cheeks of my bottom on the chair when I stood up they were so fattish and firm when I got up on the sofa cushions to see with my clothes up and the bugs tons of them at night and the mosquito nets I couldnt read a line Lord how long ago it seems centuries of course they never came back and she didnt put her address right on it either she may have noticed her wogger people were always going away and we never I remember that day with the waves and the boats with their high heads rocking and the smell of ship those Officers uniforms on shore leave made me seasick he didnt say anything he was very serious I had the high buttoned boots on and my skirt was blowing she kissed me six or seven times didnt I cry yes I believe I did or near it my lips were taittering when I said goodbye she had a Gorgeous wrap of some special kind of blue colour on her for the voyage made very peculiarly to one side like and it was extremely pretty it got as dull as the devil after they went I was almost planning to run away mad out of it somewhere were never easy where we are father or aunt or marriage waiting always waiting to guiiiide him toooo me waiting nor speeeed his flying feet their damn guns bursting and booming all over the shop especially the Queens birthday and throwing everything down in all directions if you didnt open the windows when general Ulysses Grant whoever he was or did supposed to be some great fellow landed off the ship and old Sprague the consul that was there from before the flood dressed up poor man and he in mourning for the son then the same old bugles for reveille in the morning and drums rolling and the unfortunate poor devils of soldiers walking about with messtins smelling the place more than the old longbearded jews in their jellibees and levites assembly and sound clear and gunfire for the men to cross the lines and the warden marching with his keys to lock the gates and the bagpipes and only captain Groves and father talking about Rorkes drift and Plevna and sir Garnet Wolseley and Gordon at Khartoum lighting their pipes for them everytime they went out drunken old devil with his grog on the windowsill catch him leaving any of it picking his nose trying to think of some other dirty story to tell up in a corner but he never forgot himself when I was there sending me out of the room on some blind excuse paying his compliments the Bushmills whisky talking of course but hed do the same to the next woman that came along I suppose he died of galloping drink ages ago the days like years not a letter from a living soul except the odd few I posted to myself with bits of paper in them so bored sometimes I could fight with my nails listening to that old Arab with the one eye and his heass of an instrument singing his heah heah aheah all my compriments on your hotchapotch of your heass as bad as now with the hands hanging off me looking out of the window if there was a nice fellow even in the opposite house that medical in Holles street the nurse was after when I put on my gloves and hat at the window to show I was going out not a notion what I meant arent they thick never understand what you say even youd want to print it up on a big poster for them not even if you shake hands twice with the left he didnt recognise me either when I half frowned at him outside Westland row chapel where does their great intelligence come in Id like to know grey matter they have it all in their tail if you ask me those country gougers up in the City Arms intelligence they had a damn sight less than the bulls and cows they were selling the meat and the coalmans bell that noisy bugger trying to swindle me with the wrong bill he took out of his hat what a pair of paws and pots and pans and kettles to mend any broken bottles for a poor man today and no visitors or post ever except his cheques or some advertisement like that wonderworker they sent him addressed dear Madam only his letter and the card from Milly this morning see she wrote a letter to him who did I get the last letter from O Mrs Dwenn now what possessed her to write from Canada after so many years to know the recipe I had for pisto madrileno Floey Dillon since she wrote to say she was married to a very rich architect if Im to believe all I hear with a villa and eight rooms her father was an awfully nice man he was near seventy always goodhumoured well now Miss Tweedy or Miss Gillespie theres the piannyer that was a solid silver coffee service he had too on the mahogany sideboard then dying so far away I hate people that have always their poor story to tell everybody has their own troubles that poor Nancy Blake died a month ago of acute neumonia well I didnt know her so well as all that she was Floeys friend more than mine poor Nancy its a bother having to answer he always tells me the wrong things and no stops to say like making a speech your sad bereavement symphathy I always make that mistake and newphew with 2 double yous in I hope hell write me a longer letter the next time if its a thing he really likes me O thanks be to the great God I got somebody to give me what I badly wanted to put some heart up into me youve no chances at all in this place like you used long ago I wish somebody would write me a loveletter his wasnt much and I told him he could write what he liked yours ever Hugh Boylan in old Madrid stuff silly women believe love is sighing I am dying still if he wrote it I suppose thered be some truth in it true or no it fills up your whole day and life always something to think about every moment and see it all round you like a new world I could write the answer in bed to let him imagine me short just a few words not those long crossed letters Atty Dillon used to write to the fellow that was something in the four courts that jilted her after out of the ladies letterwriter when I told her to say a few simple words he could twist how he liked not acting with precipat precip itancy with equal candour the greatest earthly happiness answer to a gentlemans proposal affirmatively my goodness theres nothing else its all very fine for them but as for being a woman as soon as youre old they might as well throw you out in the bottom of the ashpit.

Mulveys was the first when I was in bed that morning and Mrs Rubio brought it in with the coffee she stood there standing when I asked her to hand me and I pointing at them I couldnt think of the word a hairpin to open it with ah horquilla disobliging old thing and it staring her in the face with her switch of false hair on her and vain about her appearance ugly as she was near 80 or a loo her face a mass of wrinkles with all her religion domineering because she never could get over the Atlantic fleet coming in half the ships of the world and the Union Jack flying with all her carabineros because 4 drunken English sailors took all the rock from them and because I didnt run into mass often enough in Santa Maria to please her with her shawl up on her except when there was a marriage on with all her miracles of the saints and her black blessed virgin with the silver dress and the sun dancing 3 times on Easter Sunday morning and when the priest was going by with the bell bringing the vatican to the dying blessing herself for his Majestad an admirer he signed it I near jumped out of my skin I wanted to pick him up when I saw him following me along the Calle Real in the shop window then he tipped me just in passing but I never thought hed write making an appointment I had it inside my petticoat bodice all day reading it up in every hole and corner while father was up at the drill instructing to find out by the handwriting or the language of stamps singing I remember shall I wear a white rose and I wanted to put on the old stupid clock to near the time he was the first man kissed me under the Moorish wall my sweetheart when a boy it never entered my head what kissing meant till he put his tongue in my mouth his mouth was sweetlike young I put my knee up to him a few times to learn the way what did I tell him I was engaged for for fun to the son of a Spanish nobleman named Don Miguel de la Flora and he believed me that I was to be married to him in 3 years time theres many a true word spoken in jest there is a flower that bloometh a few things I told him true about myself just for him to be imagining the Spanish girls he didnt like I suppose one of them wouldnt have him I got him excited he crushed all the flowers on my bosom he brought me he couldnt count the pesetas and the perragordas till I taught him Cappoquin he came from he said on the black water but it was too short then the day before he left May yes it was May when the infant king of Spain was born Im always like that in the spring Id like a new fellow every year up on the tiptop under the rockgun near OHaras tower I told him it was struck by lightning and all about the old Barbary apes they sent to Clapham without a tail careering all over the show on each others back Mrs Rubio said she was a regular old rock scorpion robbing the chickens out of Inces farm and throw stones at you if you went anear he was looking at me I had that white blouse on open in the front to encourage him as much as I could without too openly they were just beginning to be plump I said I was tired we lay over the firtree cove a wild place I suppose it must be the highest rock in existence the galleries and casemates and those frightful rocks and Saint Michaels cave with the icicles or whatever they call them hanging down and ladders all the mud plotching my boots Im sure thats the way down the monkeys go under the sea to Africa when they die the ships out far like chips that was the Malta boat passing yes the sea and the sky you could do what you liked lie there for ever he caressed them outside they love doing that its the roundness there I was leaning over him with my white ricestraw hat to take the newness out of it the left side of my face the best my blouse open for his last day transparent kind of shirt he had I could see his chest pink he wanted to touch mine with his for a moment but I wouldnt lee him he was awfully put out first for fear you never know consumption or leave me with a child embarazada that old servant Ines told me that one drop even if it got into you at all after I tried with the Banana but I was afraid it might break and get lost up in me somewhere because they once took something down out of a woman that was up there for years covered with limesalts theyre all mad to get in there where they come out of youd think they could never go far enough up and then theyre done with you in a way till the next time yes because theres a wonderful feeling there so tender all the time how did we finish it off yes O yes I pulled him off into my handkerchief pretending not to be excited but I opened my legs I wouldnt let him touch me inside my petticoat because I had a skirt opening up the side I tormented the life out of him first tickling him I loved rousing that dog in the hotel rrrsssstt awokwokawok his eyes shut and a bird flying below us he was shy all the same I liked him like that moaning I made him blush a little when I got over him that way when I unbuttoned him and took his out and drew back the skin it had a kind of eye in it theyre all Buttons men down the middle on the wrong side of them Molly darling he called me what was his name Jack Joe Harry Mulvey was it yes I think a lieutenant he was rather fair he had a laughing kind of a voice so I went round to the whatyoucallit everything was whatyoucallit moustache had he he said hed come back Lord its just like yesterday to me and if I was married hed do it to me and I promised him yes faithfully Id let him block me now flying perhaps hes dead or killed or a captain or admiral its nearly 20 years if I said firtree cove he would if he came up behind me and put his hands over my eyes to guess who I might recognise him hes young still about 40 perhaps hes married some girl on the black water and is quite changed they all do they havent half the character a woman has she little knows what I did with her beloved husband before he ever dreamt of her in broad daylight too in the sight of the whole world you might say they could have put an article about it in the Chronicle I was a bit wild after when I blew out the old bag the biscuits were in from Benady Bros and exploded it Lord what a bang all the woodcocks and pigeons screaming coming back the same way that we went over middle hill round by the old guardhouse and the jews burialplace pretending to read out the Hebrew on them I wanted to fire his pistol he said he hadnt one he didnt know what to make of me with his peak cap on that he always wore crooked as often as I settled it straight H M S Calypso swinging my hat that old Bishop that spoke off the altar his long preach about womans higher functions about girls now riding the bicycle and wearing peak caps and the new woman bloomers God send him sense and me more money I suppose theyre called after him I never thought that would be my name Bloom when I used to write it in print to see how it looked on a visiting card or practising for the butcher and oblige M Bloom youre looking blooming Josie used to say after I married him well its better than Breen or Briggs does brig or those awful names with bottom in them Mrs Ramsbottom or some other kind of a bottom Mulvey I wouldnt go mad about either or suppose I divorced him Mrs Boylan my mother whoever she was might have given me a nicer name the Lord knows after the lovely one she had Lunita Laredo the fun we had running along Williss road to Europa point twisting in and out all round the other side of Jersey they were shaking and dancing about in my blouse like Millys little ones now when she runs up the stairs I loved looking down at them I was jumping up at the pepper trees and the white poplars pulling the leaves off and throwing them at him he went to India he was to write the voyages those men have to make to the ends of the world and back its the least they might get a squeeze or two at a woman while they can going out to be drowned or blown up somewhere I went up Windmill hill to the flats that Sunday morning with captain Rubios that was dead spyglass like the sentry had he said hed have one or two from on board I wore that frock from the B Marche paris and the coral necklace the straits shining I could see over to Morocco almost the bay of Tangier white and the Atlas mountain with snow on it and the straits like a river so clear Harry Molly darling I was thinking of him on the sea all the time after at mass when my petticoat began to slip down at the elevation weeks and weeks I kept the handkerchief under my pillow for the smell of him there was no decent perfume to be got in that Gibraltar only that cheap peau dEspagne that faded and left a stink on you more than anything else I wanted to give him a memento he gave me that clumsy Claddagh ring for luck that I gave Gardner going to south Africa where those Boers killed him with their war and fever but they were well beaten all the same as if it brought its bad luck with it like an opal or pearl still it must have been pure 18 carrot gold because it was very heavy but what could you get in a place like that the sandfrog shower from Africa and that derelict ship that came up to the harbour Marie the Marie whatyoucallit no he hadnt a moustache that was Gardner yes I can see his face cleanshaven Frseeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeefrong that train again weeping tone once in the dear deaead days beyondre call close my eyes breath my lips forward kiss sad look eyes open piano ere oer the world the mists began I hate that istsbeg comes loves sweet sooooooooooong Ill let that out full when I get in front of the footlights again Kathleen Kearney and her lot of squealers Miss This Miss That Miss Theother lot of sparrowfarts skitting around talking about politics they know as much about as my backside anything in the world to make themselves someway interesting Irish homemade beauties soldiers daughter am I ay and whose are you bootmakers and publicans I beg your pardon coach I thought you were a wheelbarrow theyd die down dead off their feet if ever they got a chance of walking down the Alameda on an officers arm like me on the bandnight my eyes flash my bust that they havent passion God help their poor head I knew more about men and life when I was I S than theyll all know at 50 they dont know how to sing a song like that Gardner said no man could look at my mouth and teeth smiling like that and not think of it I was afraid he mightnt like my accent first he so English all father left me in spite of his stamps Ive my mothers eyes and figure anyhow he always said theyre so snotty about themselves some of those cads he wasnt a bit like that he was dead gone on my lips let them get a husband first thats fit to be looked at and a daughter like mine or see if they can excite a swell with money that can pick and choose whoever he wants like Boylan to do it 4 or 5 times locked in each others arms or the voice either I could have been a prima donna only I married him comes looooves old deep down chin back not too much make it double My Ladys Bower is too long for an encore about the moated grange at twilight and vaunted rooms yes Ill sing Winds that blow from the south that he gave after the choirstairs performance Ill change that lace on my black dress to show off my bubs and Ill yes by God Ill get that big fan mended make them burst with envy my hole is itching me always when I think of him I feel I want to I feel some wind in me better go easy not wake him have him at it again slobbering after washing every bit of myself back belly and sides if we had even a bath itself or my own room anyway I wish hed sleep in some bed by himself with his cold feet on me give us room even to let a fart God or do the least thing better yes hold them like that a bit on my side piano quietly sweeeee theres that train far away pianissimo eeeee one more song

that was a relief wherever you be let your wind go free who knows if that pork chop I took with my cup of tea after was quite good with the heat I couldnt smell anything off it Im sure that queerlooking man in the porkbutchers is a great rogue I hope that lamp is not smoking fill my nose up with smuts better than having him leaving the gas on all night I couldnt rest easy in my bed in Gibraltar even getting up to see why am I so damned nervous about that though I like it in the winter its more company O Lord it was rotten cold too that winter when I was only about ten was I yes I had the big doll with all the funny clothes dressing her up and undressing that icy wind skeeting across from those mountains the something Nevada sierra nevada standing at the fire with the little bit of a short shift I had up to heat myself I loved dancing about in it then make a race back into bed Im sure that fellow opposite used to be there the whole time watching with the lights out in the summer and I in my skin hopping around I used to love myself then stripped at the washstand dabbing and creaming only when it came to the chamber performance I put out the light too so then there were 2 of us goodbye to my sleep for this night anyhow I hope hes not going to get in with those medicals leading him astray to imagine hes young again coming in at 4 in the morning it must be if not more still he had the manners not to wake me what do they find to gabber about all night squandering money and getting drunker and drunker couldnt they drink water then he starts giving us his orders for eggs and tea and Findon haddy and hot buttered toast I suppose well have him sitting up like the king of the country pumping the wrong end of the spoon up and down in his egg wherever he learned that from and I love to hear him falling up the stairs of a morning with the cups rattling on the tray and then play with the cat she rubs up against you for her own sake I wonder has she fleas shes as bad as a woman always licking and lecking but I hate their claws I wonder do they see anything that we cant staring like that when she sits at the top of the stairs so long and listening as I wait always what a robber too that lovely fresh place I bought I think Ill get a bit of fish tomorrow or today is it Friday yes I will with some blancmange with black currant jam like long ago not those 2 lb pots of mixed plum and apple from the London and Newcastle Williams and Woods goes twice as far only for the bones I hate those eels cod yes Ill get a nice piece of cod Im always getting enough for 3 forgetting anyway Im sick of that everlasting butchers meat from Buckleys loin chops and leg beef and rib steak and scrag of mutton and calfs pluck the very name is enough or a picnic suppose we all gave 5/- each and or let him pay it and invite some other woman for him who Mrs Fleming and drove out to the furry glen or the strawberry beds wed have him examining all the horses toenails first like he does with the letters no not with Boylan there yes with some cold veal and ham mixed sandwiches there are little houses down at the bottom of the banks there on purpose but its as hot as blazes he says not a bank holiday anyhow I hate those ruck of Mary Ann coalboxes out for the day Whit Monday is a cursed day too no wonder that bee bit him better the seaside but Id never again in this life get into a boat with him after him at Bray telling the boatman he knew how to row if anyone asked could he ride the steeplechase for the gold cup hed say yes then it came on to get rough the old thing crookeding about and the weight all down my side telling me pull the right reins now pull the left and the tide all swamping in floods in through the bottom and his oar slipping out of the stirrup its a mercy we werent all drowned he can swim of course me no theres no danger whatsoever keep yourself calm in his flannel trousers Id like to have tattered them down off him before all the people and give him what that one calls flagellate till he was black and blue do him all the good in the world only for that longnosed chap I dont know who he is with that other beauty Burke out of the City Arms hotel was there spying around as usual on the slip always where he wasnt wanted if there was a row on youd vomit a better face there was no love lost between us thats 1 consolation I wonder what kind is that book he brought me Sweets of Sin by a gentleman of fashion some other Mr de Kock I suppose the people gave him that nickname going about with his tube from one woman to another I couldnt even change my new white shoes all ruined with the saltwater and the hat I had with that feather all blowy and tossed on me how annoying and provoking because the smell of the sea excited me of course the sardines and the bream in Catalan bay round the back of the rock they were fine all silver in the fishermens baskets old Luigi near a hundred they said came from Genoa and the tall old chap with the earrings I dont like a man you have to climb up to to get at I suppose theyre all dead and rotten long ago besides I dont like being alone in this big barracks of a place at night I suppose Ill have to put up with it I never brought a bit of salt in even when we moved in the confusion musical academy he was going to make on the first floor drawingroom with a brassplate or Blooms private hotel he suggested go and ruin himself altogether the way his father did down in Ennis like all the things he told father he was going to do and me but I saw through him telling me all the lovely places we could go for the honeymoon Venice by moonlight with the gondolas and the lake of Como he had a picture cut out of some paper of and mandolines and lanterns O how nice I said whatever I liked he was going to do immediately if not sooner will you be my man will you carry my can he ought to get a leather medal with a putty rim for all the plans he invents then leaving us here all day youd never know what old beggar at the door for a crust with his long story might be a tramp and put his foot in the way to prevent me shutting it like that picture of that hardened criminal he was called in Lloyds Weekly news 20 years in jail then he comes out and murders an old woman for her money imagine his poor wife or mother or whoever she is such a face youd run miles away from I couldnt rest easy till I bolted all the doors and windows to make sure but its worse again being locked up like in a prison or a madhouse they ought to be all shot or the cat of nine tails a big brute like that that would attack a poor old woman to murder her in her bed Id cut them off him so I would not that hed be much use still better than nothing the night I was sure I heard burglars in the kitchen and he went down in his shirt with a candle and a poker as if he was looking for a mouse as white as a sheet frightened out of his wits making as much noise as he possibly could for the burglars benefit there isnt much to steal indeed the Lord knows still its the feeling especially now with Milly away such an idea for him to send the girl down there to learn to take photographs on account of his grandfather instead of sending her to Skerrys academy where shed have to learn not like me getting all IS at school only hed do a thing like that all the same on account of me and Boylan thats why he did it Im certain the way he plots and plans everything out I couldnt turn round with her in the place lately unless I bolted the door first gave me the fidgets coming in without knocking first when I put the chair against the door just as I was washing myself there below with the glove get on your nerves then doing the loglady all day put her in a glasscase with two at a time to look at her if he knew she broke off the hand off that little gimcrack statue with her roughness and carelessness before she left that I got that little Italian boy to mend so that you cant see the join for 2 shillings wouldnt even teem the potatoes for you of course shes right not to ruin her hands I noticed he was always talking to her lately at the table explaining things in the paper and she pretending to understand sly of course that comes from his side of the house he cant say I pretend things can he Im too honest as a matter of fact and helping her into her coat but if there was anything wrong with her its me shed tell not him I suppose he thinks Im finished out and laid on the shelf well Im not no nor anything like it well see well see now shes well on for flirting too with Tom Devans two sons imitating me whistling with those romps of Murray girls calling for her can Milly come out please shes in great demand to pick what they can out of her round in Nelson street riding Harry Devans bicycle at night its as well he sent her where she is she was just getting out of bounds wanting to go on the skatingrink and smoking their cigarettes through their nose I smelt it off her dress when I was biting off the thread of the button I sewed on to the bottom of her jacket she couldnt hide much from me I tell you only I oughtnt to have stitched it and it on her it brings a parting and the last plumpudding too split in 2 halves see it comes out no matter what they say her tongue is a bit too long for my taste your blouse is open too low she says to me the pan calling the kettle blackbottom and I had to tell her not to cock her legs up like that on show on the windowsill before all the people passing they all look at her like me when I was her age of course any old rag looks well on you then a great touchmenot too in her own way at the Only Way in the Theatre royal take your foot away out of that I hate people touching me afraid of her life Id crush her skirt with the pleats a lot of that touching must go on in theatres in the crush in the dark theyre always trying to wiggle up to you that fellow in the pit at the Gaiety for Beerbohm Tree in Trilby the last time Ill ever go there to be squashed like that for any Trilby or her barebum every two minutes tipping me there and looking away hes a bit daft I think I saw him after trying to get near two stylishdressed ladies outside Switzers window at the same little game I recognised him on the moment the face and everything but he didnt remember me yes and she didnt even want me to kiss her at the Broadstone going away well I hope shell get someone to dance attendance on her the way I did when she was down with the mumps and her glands swollen wheres this and wheres that of course she cant feel anything deep yet I never came properly till I was what 22 or so it went into the wrong place always only the usual girls nonsense and giggling that Conny Connolly writing to her in white ink on black paper sealed with sealingwax though she clapped when the curtain came down because he looked so handsome then we had Martin Harvey for breakfast dinner and supper I thought to myself afterwards it must be real love if a man gives up his life for her that way for nothing I suppose there are a few men like that left its hard to believe in it though unless it really happened to me the majority of them with not a particle of love in their natures to find two people like that nowadays full up of each other that would feel the same way as you do theyre usually a bit foolish in the head his father must have been a bit queer to go and poison himself after her still poor old man I suppose he felt lost shes always making love to my things too the few old rags I have wanting to put her hair up at I S my powder too only ruin her skin on her shes time enough for that all her life after of course shes restless knowing shes pretty with her lips so red a pity they wont stay that way I was too but theres no use going to the fair with the thing answering me like a fishwoman when I asked to go for a half a stone of potatoes the day we met Mrs Joe Gallaher at the trottingmatches and she pretended not to see us in her trap with Friery the solicitor we werent grand enough till I gave her 2 damn fine cracks across the ear for herself take that now for answering me like that and that for your impudence she had me that exasperated of course contradicting I was badtempered too because how was it there was a weed in the tea or I didnt sleep the night before cheese I ate was it and I told her over and over again not to leave knives crossed like that because she has nobody to command her as she said herself well if he doesnt correct her faith I will that was the last time she turned on the teartap I was just like that myself they darent order me about the place its his fault of course having the two of us slaving here instead of getting in a woman long ago am I ever going to have a proper servant again of course then shed see him coming Id have to let her know or shed revenge it arent they a nuisance that old Mrs Fleming you have to be walking round after her putting the things into her hands sneezing and farting into the pots well of course shes old she cant help it a good job I found that rotten old smelly dishcloth that got lost behind the dresser I knew there was something and opened the area window to let out the smell bringing in his friends to entertain them like the night he walked home with a dog if you please that might have been mad especially Simon Dedalus son his father such a criticiser with his glasses up with his tall hat on him at the cricket match and a great big hole in his sock one thing laughing at the other and his son that got all those prizes for whatever he won them in the intermediate imagine climbing over the railings if anybody saw him that knew us I wonder he didnt tear a big hole in his grand funeral trousers as if the one nature gave wasnt enough for anybody hawking him down into the dirty old kitchen now is he right in his head I ask pity it wasnt washing day my old pair of drawers might have been hanging up too on the line on exhibition for all hed ever care with the ironmould mark the stupid old bundle burned on them he might think was something else and she never even rendered down the fat I told her and now shes going such as she was on account of her paralysed husband getting worse theres always something wrong with them disease or they have to go under an operation or if its not that its drink and he beats her Ill have to hunt around again for someone every day I get up theres some new thing on sweet God sweet God well when Im stretched out dead in my grave I suppose 111 have some peace I want to get up a minute if Im let wait O Jesus wait yes that thing has come on me yes now wouldnt that afflict you of course all the poking and rooting and ploughing he had up in me now what am I to do Friday Saturday Sunday wouldnt that pester the soul out of a body unless he likes it some men do God knows theres always something wrong with us 5 days every 3 or 4 weeks usual monthly auction isnt it simply sickening that night it came on me like that the one and only time we were in a box that Michael Gunn gave him to see Mrs Kendal and her husband at the Gaiety something he did about insurance for him in Drimmies I was fit to be tied though I wouldnt give in with that gentleman of fashion staring down at me with his glasses and him the other side of me talking about Spinoza and his soul thats dead I suppose millions of years ago I smiled the best I could all in a swamp leaning forward as if I was interested having to sit it out then to the last tag I wont forget that wife of Scarli in a hurry supposed to be a fast play about adultery that idiot in the gallery hissing the woman adulteress he shouted I suppose he went and had a woman in the next lane running round all the back ways after to make up for it I wish he had what I had then hed boo I bet the cat itself is better off than us have we too much blood up in us or what O patience above its pouring out of me like the sea anyhow he didnt make me pregnant as big as he is I dont want to ruin the clean sheets I just put on I suppose the clean linen I wore brought it on too damn it damn it and they always want to see a stain on the bed to know youre a virgin for them all thats troubling them theyre such fools too you could be a widow or divorced 40 times over a daub of red ink would do or blackberry juice no thats too purply O Jamesy let me up out of this pooh sweets of sin whoever suggested that business for women what between clothes and cooking and children this damned old bed too jingling like the dickens I suppose they could hear us away over the other side of the park till I suggested to put the quilt on the floor with the pillow under my bottom I wonder is it nicer in the day I think it is easy I think Ill cut all this hair off me there scalding me I might look like a young girl wouldnt he get the great suckin the next time he turned up my clothes on me Id give anything to see his face wheres the chamber gone easy Ive a holy horror of its breaking under me after that old commode I wonder was I too heavy sitting on his knee I made him sit on the easychair purposely when I took off only my blouse and skirt first in the other room he was so busy where he oughtnt to be he never felt me I hope my breath was sweet after those kissing comfits easy God I remember one time I could scout it out straight whistling like a man almost easy O Lord how noisy I hope theyre bubbles on it for a wad of money from some fellow 111 have to perfume it in the morning dont forget I bet he never saw a better pair of thighs than that look how white they are the smoothest place is right there between this bit here how soft like a peach easy God I wouldnt mind being a man and get up on a lovely woman O Lord what a row youre making like the jersey lily easy easy O how the waters come down at Lahore

who knows is there anything the matter with my insides or have I something growing in me getting that thing like that every week when was it last I Whit Monday yes its only about 3 weeks I ought to go to the doctor only it would be like before I married him when I had that white thing coming from me and Floey made me go to that dry old stick Dr Collins for womens diseases on Pembroke road your vagina he called it I suppose thats how he got all the gilt mirrors and carpets getting round those rich ones off Stephens green running up to him for every little fiddlefaddle her vagina and her cochinchina theyve money of course so theyre all right I wouldnt marry him not if he was the last man in the world besides theres something queer about their children always smelling around those filthy bitches all sides asking me if what I did had an offensive odour what did he want me to do but the one thing gold maybe what a question if I smathered it all over his wrinkly old face for him with all my compriments I suppose hed know then and could you pass it easily pass what I thought he was talking about the rock of Gibraltar the way he put it thats a very nice invention too by the way only I like letting myself down after in the hole as far as I can squeeze and pull the chain then to flush it nice cool pins and needles still theres something in it I suppose I always used to know by Millys when she was a child whether she had worms or not still all the same paying him for that how much is that doctor one guinea please and asking me had I frequent omissions where do those old fellows get all the words they have omissions with his shortsighted eyes on me cocked sideways I wouldnt trust him too far to give me chloroform or God knows what else still I liked him when he sat down to write the thing out frowning so severe his nose intelligent like that you be damned you lying strap O anything no matter who except an idiot he was clever enough to spot that of course that was all thinking of him and his mad crazy letters my Precious one everything connected with your glorious Body everything underlined that comes from it is a thing of beauty and of joy for ever something he got out of some nonsensical book that he had me always at myself 4 and 5 times a day sometimes and I said I hadnt are you sure O yes I said I am quite sure in a way that shut him up I knew what was coming next only natural weakness it was he excited me I dont know how the first night ever we met when I was living in Rehoboth terrace we stood staring at one another for about lo minutes as if we met somewhere I suppose on account of my being jewess looking after my mother he used to amuse me the things he said with the half sloothering smile on him and all the Doyles said he was going to stand for a member of Parliament O wasnt I the born fool to believe all his blather about home rule and the land league sending me that long strool of a song out of the Huguenots to sing in French to be more classy O beau pays de la Touraine that I never even sang once explaining and rigmaroling about religion and persecution he wont let you enjoy anything naturally then might he as a great favour the very 1st opportunity he got a chance in Brighton square running into my bedroom pretending the ink got on his hands to wash it off with the Albion milk and sulphur soap I used to use and the gelatine still round it O I laughed myself sick at him that day I better not make an alnight sitting on this affair they ought to make chambers a natural size so that a woman could sit on it properly he kneels down to do it I suppose there isnt in all creation another man with the habits he has look at the way hes sleeping at the foot of the bed how can he without a hard bolster its well he doesnt kick or he might knock out all my teeth breathing with his hand on his nose like that Indian god he took me to show one wet Sunday in the museum in Kildare street all yellow in a pinafore lying on his side on his hand with his ten toes sticking out that he said was a bigger religion than the jews and Our Lords both put together all over Asia imitating him as hes always imitating everybody I suppose he used to sleep at the foot of the bed too with his big square feet up in his wifes mouth damn this stinking thing anyway wheres this those napkins are ah yes I know I hope the old press doesnt creak ah I knew it would hes sleeping hard had a good time somewhere still she must have given him great value for his money of course he has to pay for it from her O this nuisance of a thing I hope theyll have something better for us in the other world tying ourselves up God help us thats all right for tonight now the lumpy old jingly bed always reminds me of old Cohen I suppose he scratched himself in it often enough and he thinks father bought it from Lord Napier that I used to admire when I was a little girl because I told him easy piano O I like my bed God here we are as bad as ever after 16 years how many houses were we in at all Raymond terrace and Ontario terrace and Lombard street and Holles street and he goes about whistling every time were on the run again his huguenots or the frogs march pretending to help the men with our 4 sticks of furniture and then the City Arms hotel worse and worse says Warden Daly that charming place on the landing always somebody inside praying then leaving all their stinks after them always know who was in there last every time were just getting on right something happens or he puts his big foot in it Thoms and Helys and Mr Cuffes and Drimmies either hes going to be run into prison over his old lottery tickets that was to be all our salvations or he goes and gives impudence well have him coming home with the sack soon out of the Freeman too like the rest on account of those Sinner Fein or the freemasons then well see if the little man he showed me dribbling along in the wet all by himself round by Coadys lane will give him much consolation that he says is so capable and sincerely Irish he is indeed judging by the sincerity of the trousers I saw on him wait theres Georges church bells wait 3 quarters the hour l wait 2 oclock well thats a nice hour of the night for him to be coming home at to anybody climbing down into the area if anybody saw him Ill knock him off that little habit tomorrow first Ill look at his shirt to see or Ill see if he has that French letter still in his pocketbook I suppose he thinks I dont know deceitful men all their 20 pockets arent enough for their lies then why should we tell them even if its the truth they dont believe you then tucked up in bed like those babies in the Aristocrats Masterpiece he brought me another time as if we hadnt enough of that in real life without some old Aristocrat or whatever his name is disgusting you more with those rotten pictures children with two heads and no legs thats the kind of villainy theyre always dreaming about with not another thing in their empty heads they ought to get slow poison the half of them then tea and toast for him buttered on both sides and newlaid eggs I suppose Im nothing any more when I wouldnt let him lick me in Holles street one night man man tyrant as ever for the one thing he slept on the floor half the night naked the way the jews used when somebody dies belonged to them and wouldnt eat any breakfast or speak a word wanting to be petted so I thought I stood out enough for one time and let him he does it all wrong too thinking only of his own pleasure his tongue is too flat or I dont know what he forgets that wethen I dont Ill make him do it again if he doesnt mind himself and lock him down to sleep in the coalcellar with the blackbeetles I wonder was it her Josie off her head with my castoffs hes such a born liar too no hed never have the courage with a married woman thats why he wants me and Boylan though as for her Denis as she calls him that forlornlooking spectacle you couldnt call him a husband yes its some little bitch hes got in with even when I was with him with Milly at the College races that Hornblower with the childs bonnet on the top of his nob let us into by the back way he was throwing his sheeps eyes at those two doing skirt duty up and down I tried to wink at him first no use of course and thats the way his money goes this is the fruits of Mr Paddy Dignam yes they were all in great style at the grand funeral in the paper Boylan brought in if they saw a real officers funeral thatd be something reversed arms muffled drums the poor horse walking behind in black L Boom and Tom Kernan that drunken little barrelly man that bit his tongue off falling down the mens W C drunk in some place or other and Martin Cunningham and the two Dedaluses and Fanny MCoys husband white head of cabbage skinny thing with a turn in her eye trying to sing my songs shed want to be born all over again and her old green dress with the lowneck as she cant attract them any other way like dabbling on a rainy day I see it all now plainly and they call that friendship killing and then burying one another and they all with their wives and families at home more especially Jack Power keeping that barmaid he does of course his wife is always sick or going to be sick or just getting better of it and hes a goodlooking man still though hes getting a bit grey over the ears theyre a nice lot all of them well theyre not going to get my husband again into their clutches if I can help it making fun of him then behind his back I know well when he goes on with his idiotics because he has sense enough not to squander every penny piece he earns down their gullets and looks after his wife and family goodfornothings poor Paddy Dignam all the same Im sorry in a way for him what are his wife and 5 children going to do unless he was insured comical little teetotum always stuck up in some pub corner and her or her son waiting Bill Bailey wont you please come home her widows weeds wont improve her appearance theyre awfully becoming though if youre goodlooking what men wasnt he yes he was at the Glencree dinner and Ben Dollard base barreltone the night he borrowed the swallowtail to sing out of in Holles street squeezed and squashed into them and grinning all over his big Dolly face like a wellwhipped childs botty didnt he look a balmy ballocks sure enough that must have been a spectacle on the stage imagine paying 5/- in the preserved seats for that to see him trotting off in his trowlers and Simon Dedalus too he was always turning up half screwed singing the second verse first the old love is the new was one of his so sweetly sang the maiden on the hawthorn bough he was always on for flirtyfying too when I sang Maritana with him at Freddy Mayers private opera he had a delicious glorious voice Phoebe dearest goodbye sweetheart sweetheart he always sang it not like Bartell Darcy sweet tart goodbye of course he had the gift of the voice so there was no art in it all over you like a warm showerbath O Maritana wildwood flower we sang splendidly though it was a bit too high for my register even transposed and he was married at the time to May Goulding but then hed say or do something to knock the good out of it hes a widower now I wonder what sort is his son he says hes an author and going to be a university professor of Italian and Im to take lessons what is he driving at now showing him my photo its not good of me I ought to have got it taken in drapery that never looks out of fashion still I look young in it I wonder he didnt make him a present of it altogether and me too after all why not I saw him driving down to the Kingsbridge station with his father and mother I was in mourning thats 11 years ago now yes hed be 11 though what was the good in going into mourning for what was neither one thing nor the other the first cry was enough for me I heard the deathwatch too ticking in the wall of course he insisted hed go into mourning for the cat I suppose hes a man now by this time he was an innocent boy then and a darling little fellow in his lord Fauntleroy suit and curly hair like a prince on the stage when I saw him at Mat Dillons he liked me too I remember they all do wait by God yes wait yes hold on he was on the cards this morning when I laid out the deck union with a young stranger neither dark nor fair you met before I thought it meant him but hes no chicken nor a stranger either besides my face was turned the other way what was the 7th card after that the 10 of spades for a journey by land then there was a letter on its way and scandals too the 3 queens and the 8 of diamonds for a rise in society yes wait it all came out and 2 red 8s for new garments look at that and didnt I dream something too yes there was something about poetry in it I hope he hasnt long greasy hair hanging into his eyes or standing up like a red Indian what do they go about like that for only getting themselves and their poetry laughed at I always liked poetry when I was a girl first I thought he was a poet like lord Byron and not an ounce of it in his composition I thought he was quite different I wonder is he too young hes about wait 88 I was married 88 Milly is 15 yesterday 89 what age was he then at Dillons 5 or 6 about 88 I suppose hes 20 or more Im not too old for him if hes 23 or 24 I hope hes not that stuckup university student sort no otherwise he wouldnt go sitting down in the old kitchen with him taking Eppss cocoa and talking of course he pretended to understand it all probably he told him he was out of Trinity college hes very young to be a professor I hope hes not a professor like Goodwin was he was a potent professor of John Jameson they all write about some woman in their poetry well I suppose he wont find many like me where softly sighs of love the light guitar where poetry is in the air the blue sea and the moon shining so beautifully coming back on the nightboat from Tarifa the lighthouse at Europa point the guitar that fellow played was so expressive will I ever go back there again all new faces two glancing eyes a lattice hid Ill sing that for him theyre my eyes if hes anything of a poet two eyes as darkly bright as loves own star arent those beautiful words as loves young star itll be a change the Lord knows to have an intelligent person to talk to about yourself not always listening to him and Billy Prescotts ad and Keyess ad and Tom the Devils ad then if anything goes wrong in their business we have to suffer Im sure hes very distinguished Id like to meet a man like that God not those other ruck besides hes young those fine young men I could see down in Margate strand bathingplace from the side of the rock standing up in the sun naked like a God or something and then plunging into the sea with them why arent all men like that thered be some consolation for a woman like that lovely little statue he bought I could look at him all day long curly head and his shoulders his finger up for you to listen theres real beauty and poetry for you I often felt I wanted to kiss him all over also his lovely young cock there so simple I wouldnt mind taking him in my mouth if nobody was looking as if it was asking you to suck it so clean and white he looks with his boyish face I would too in 1/2 a minute even if some of it went down what its only like gruel or the dew theres no danger besides hed be so clean compared with those pigs of men I suppose never dream of washing it from I years end to the other the most of them only thats what gives the women the moustaches Im sure itll be grand if I can only get in with a handsome young poet at my age Ill throw them the 1st thing in the morning till I see if the wishcard comes out or Ill try pairing the lady herself and see if he comes out Ill read and study all I can find or learn a bit off by heart if I knew who he likes so he wont think me stupid if he thinks all women are the same and I can teach him the other part Ill make him feel all over him till he half faints under me then hell write about me lover and mistress publicly too with our 2 photographs in all the papers when he becomes famous O but then what am I going to do about him though

no thats no way for him has he no manners nor no refinement nor no nothing in his nature slapping us behind like that on my bottom because I didnt call him Hugh the ignoramus that doesnt know poetry from a cabbage thats what you get for not keeping them in their proper place pulling off his shoes and trousers there on the chair before me so barefaced without even asking permission and standing out that vulgar way in the half of a shirt they wear to be admired like a priest or a butcher or those old hypocrites in the time of Julius Caesar of course hes right enough in his way to pass the time as a joke sure you might as well be in bed with what with a lion God Im sure hed have something better to say for himself an old Lion would O well I suppose its because they were so plump and tempting in my short petticoat he couldnt resist they excite myself sometimes its well for men all the amount of pleasure they get off a womans body were so round and white for them always I wished I was one myself for a change just to try with that thing they have swelling up on you so hard and at the same time so soft when you touch it my uncle John has a thing long I heard those cornerboys saying passing the comer of Marrowbone lane my aunt Mary has a thing hairy because it was dark and they knew a girl was passing it didnt make me blush why should it either its only nature and he puts his thing long into my aunt Marys hairy etcetera and turns out to be you put the handle in a sweepingbrush men again all over they can pick and choose what they please a married woman or a fast widow or a girl for their different tastes like those houses round behind Irish street no but were to be always chained up theyre not going to be chaining me up no damn fear once I start I tell you for their stupid husbands jealousy why cant we all remain friends over it instead of quarrelling her husband found it out what they did together well naturally and if he did can he undo it hes coronado anyway whatever he does and then he going to the other mad extreme about the wife in Fair Tyrants of course the man never even casts a 2nd thought on the husband or wife either its the woman he wants and he gets her what else were we given all those desires for Id like to know I cant help it if Im young still can I its a wonder Im not an old shrivelled hag before my time living with him so cold never embracing me except sometimes when hes asleep the wrong end of me not knowing I suppose who he has any man thatd kiss a womans bottom Id throw my hat at him after that hed kiss anything unnatural where we havent I atom of any kind of expression in us all of us the same 2 lumps of lard before ever Id do that to a man pfooh the dirty brutes the mere thought is enough I kiss the feet of you senorita theres some sense in that didnt he kiss our halldoor yes he did what a madman nobody understands his cracked ideas but me still of course a woman wants to be embraced 20 times a day almost to make her look young no matter by who so long as to be in love or loved by somebody if the fellow you want isnt there sometimes by the Lord God I was thinking would I go around by the quays there some dark evening where nobodyd know me and pick up a sailor off the sea thatd be hot on for it and not care a pin whose I was only do it off up in a gate somewhere or one of those wildlooking gipsies in Rathfarnham had their camp pitched near the Bloomfield laundry to try and steal our things if they could I only sent mine there a few times for the name model laundry sending me back over and over some old ones odd stockings that blackguardlooking fellow with the fine eyes peeling a switch attack me in the dark and ride me up against the wall without a word or a murderer anybody what they do themselves the fine gentlemen in their silk hats that K C lives up somewhere this way coming out of Hardwicke lane the night he gave us the fish supper on account of winning over the boxing match of course it was for me he gave it I knew him by his gaiters and the walk and when I turned round a minute after just to see there was a woman after coming out of it too some filthy prostitute then he goes home to his wife after that only I suppose the half of those sailors are rotten again with disease O move over your big carcass out of that for the love of Mike listen to him the winds that waft my sighs to thee so well he may sleep and sigh the great Suggester Don Poldo de la Flora if he knew how he came out on the cards this morning hed have something to sigh for a dark man in some perplexity between 2 7s too in prison for Lord knows what he does that I dont know and Im to be slooching around down in the kitchen to get his lordship his breakfast while hes rolled up like a mummy will I indeed did you ever see me running Id just like to see myself at it show them attention and they treat you like dirt I dont care what anybody says itd be much better for the world to be governed by the women in it you wouldnt see women going and killing one another and slaughtering when do you ever see women rolling around drunk like they do or gambling every penny they have and losing it on horses yes because a woman whatever she does she knows where to stop sure they wouldnt be in the world at all only for us they dont know what it is to be a woman and a mother how could they where would they all of them be if they hadnt all a mother to look after them what I never had thats why I suppose hes running wild now out at night away from his books and studies and not living at home on account of the usual rowy house I suppose well its a poor case that those that have a fine son like that theyre not satisfied and I none was he not able to make one it wasnt my fault we came together when I was watching the two dogs up in her behind in the middle of the naked street that disheartened me altogether I suppose I oughtnt to have buried him in that little woolly jacket I knitted crying as I was but give it to some poor child but I knew well Id never have another our 1st death too it was we were never the same since O Im not going to think myself into the glooms about that any more I wonder why he wouldnt stay the night I felt all the time it was somebody strange he brought in instead of roving around the city meeting God knows who nightwalkers and pickpockets his poor mother wouldnt like that if she was alive ruining himself for life perhaps still its a lovely hour so silent I used to love coming home after dances the air of the night they have friends they can talk to weve none either he wants what he wont get or its some woman ready to stick her knife in you I hate that in women no wonder they treat us the way they do we are a dreadful lot of bitches I suppose its all the troubles we have makes us so snappy Im not like that he could easy have slept in there on the sofa in the other room I suppose he was as shy as a boy he being so young hardly 20 of me in the next room hed have heard me on the chamber arrah what harm Dedalus I wonder its like those names in Gibraltar Delapaz Delagracia they had the devils queer names there father Vilaplana of Santa Maria that gave me the rosary Rosales y OReilly in the Calle las Siete Revueltas and Pisimbo and Mrs Opisso in Governor street O what a name Id go and drown myself in the first river if I had a name like her O my and all the bits of streets Paradise ramp and Bedlam ramp and Rodgers ramp and Crutchetts ramp and the devils gap steps well small blame to me if I am a harumscarum I know I am a bit I declare to God I dont feel a day older than then I wonder could I get my tongue round any of the Spanish como esta usted muy bien gracias y usted see I havent forgotten it all I thought I had only for the grammar a noun is the name of any person place or thing pity I never tried to read that novel cantankerous Mrs Rubio lent me by Valera with the questions in it all upside down the two ways I always knew wed go away in the end I can tell him the Spanish and he tell me the Italian then hell see Im not so ignorant what a pity he didnt stay Im sure the poor fellow was dead tired and wanted a good sleep badly I could have brought him in his breakfast in bed with a bit of toast so long as I didnt do it on the knife for bad luck or if the woman was going her rounds with the watercress and something nice and tasty there are a few olives in the kitchen he might like I never could bear the look of them in Abrines I could do the criada the room looks all right since I changed it the other way you see something was telling me all the time Id have to introduce myself not knowing me from Adam very funny wouldnt it Im his wife or pretend we were in Spain with him half awake without a Gods notion where he is dos huevos estrellados senor Lord the cracked things come into my head sometimes itd be great fun supposing he stayed with us why not theres the room upstairs empty and Millys bed in the back room he could do his writing and studies at the table in there for all the scribbling he does at it and if he wants to read in bed in the morning like me as hes making the breakfast for I he can make it for 2 Im sure Im not going to take in lodgers off the street for him if he takes a gesabo of a house like this Id love to have a long talk with an intelligent welleducated person Id have to get a nice pair of red slippers like those Turks with the fez used to sell or yellow and a nice semitransparent morning gown that I badly want or a peachblossom dressing jacket like the one long ago in Walpoles only 8/6 or 18/6 Ill just give him one more chance Ill get up early in the morning Im sick of Cohens old bed in any case I might go over to the markets to see all the vegetables and cabbages and tomatoes and carrots and all kinds of splendid fruits all coming in lovely and fresh who knows whod be the 1st man Id meet theyre out looking for it in the morning Mamy Dillon used to say they are and the night too that was her massgoing Id love a big juicy pear now to melt in your mouth like when I used to be in the longing way then Ill throw him up his eggs and tea in the moustachecup she gave him to make his mouth bigger I suppose hed like my nice cream too I know what Ill do Ill go about rather gay not too much singing a bit now and then mi fa pieta Masetto then Ill start dressing myself to go out presto non son piu forte Ill put on my best shift and drawers let him have a good eyeful out of that to make his micky stand for him Ill let him know if thats what he wanted that his wife is I s l o fucked yes and damn well fucked too up to my neck nearly not by him 5 or 6 times handrunning theres the mark of his spunk on the clean sheet I wouldnt bother to even iron it out that ought to satisfy him if you dont believe me feel my belly unless I made him stand there and put him into me Ive a mind to tell him every scrap and make him do it out in front of me serve him right its all his own fault if I am an adulteress as the thing in the gallery said O much about it if thats all the harm ever we did in this vale of tears God knows its not much doesnt everybody only they hide it I suppose thats what a woman is supposed to be there for or He wouldnt have made us the way He did so attractive to men then if he wants to kiss my bottom Ill drag open my drawers and bulge it right out in his face as large as life he can stick his tongue 7 miles up my hole as hes there my brown part then Ill tell him I want LI or perhaps 30/- Ill tell him I want to buy underclothes then if he gives me that well he wont be too bad I dont want to soak it all out of him like other women do I could often have written out a fine cheque for myself and write his name on it for a couple of pounds a few times he forgot to lock it up besides he wont spend it Ill let him do it off on me behind provided he doesnt smear all my good drawers O I suppose that cant be helped Ill do the indifferent l or 2 questions Ill know by the answers when hes like that he cant keep a thing back I know every turn in him Ill tighten my bottom well and let out a few smutty words smellrump or lick my shit or the first mad thing comes into my head then Ill suggest about yes O wait now sonny my turn is coming Ill be quite gay and friendly over it O but I was forgetting this bloody pest of a thing pfooh you wouldnt know which to laugh or cry were such a mixture of plum and apple no Ill have to wear the old things so much the better itll be more pointed hell never know whether he did it or not there thats good enough for you any old thing at all then Ill wipe him off me just like a business his omission then Ill go out Ill have him eying up at the ceiling where is she gone now make him want me thats the only way a quarter after what an unearthly hour I suppose theyre just getting up in China now combing out their pigtails for the day well soon have the nuns ringing the angelus theyve nobody coming in to spoil their sleep except an odd priest or two for his night office or the alarmclock next door at cockshout clattering the brains out of itself let me see if I can doze off 1 2 3 4 5 what kind of flowers are those they invented like the stars the wallpaper in Lombard street was much nicer the apron he gave me was like that something only I only wore it twice better lower this lamp and try again so as I can get up early Ill go to Lambes there beside Findlaters and get them to send us some flowers to put about the place in case he brings him home tomorrow today I mean no no Fridays an unlucky day first I want to do the place up someway the dust grows in it I think while Im asleep then we can have music and cigarettes I can accompany him first I must clean the keys of the piano with milk whatll I wear shall I wear a white rose or those fairy cakes in Liptons I love the smell of a rich big shop at 7 1/2d a lb or the other ones with the cherries in them and the pinky sugar I Id a couple of lbs of those a nice plant for the middle of the table Id get that cheaper in wait wheres this I saw them not long ago I love flowers Id love to have the whole place swimming in roses God of heaven theres nothing like nature the wild mountains then the sea and the waves rushing then the beautiful country with the fields of oats and wheat and all kinds of things and all the fine cattle going about that would do your heart good to see rivers and lakes and flowers all sorts of shapes and smells and colours springing up even out of the ditches primroses and violets nature it is as for them saying theres no God I wouldnt give a snap of my two fingers for all their learning why dont they go and create something I often asked him atheists or whatever they call themselves go and wash the cobbles off themselves first then they go howling for the priest and they dying and why why because theyre afraid of hell on account of their bad conscience ah yes I know them well who was the first person in the universe before there was anybody that made it all who ah that they dont know neither do I so there you are they might as well try to stop the sun from rising tomorrow the sun shines for you he said the day we were lying among the rhododendrons on Howth head in the grey tweed suit and his straw hat the day I got him to propose to me yes first I gave him the bit of seedcake out of my mouth and it was leapyear like now yes 16 years ago my God after that long kiss I near lost my breath yes he said I was a flower of the mountain yes so we are flowers all a womans body yes that was one true thing he said in his life and the sun shines for you today yes that was why I liked him because I saw he understood or felt what a woman is and I knew I could always get round him and I gave him all the pleasure I could leading him on till he asked me to say yes and I wouldnt answer first only looked out over the sea and the sky I was thinking of so many things he didnt know of Mulvey and Mr Stanhope and Hester and father and old captain Groves and the sailors playing all birds fly and I say stoop and washing up dishes they called it on the pier and the sentry in front of the governors house with the thing round his white helmet poor devil half roasted and the Spanish girls laughing in their shawls and their tall combs and the auctions in the morning the Greeks and the jews and the Arabs and the devil knows who else from all the ends of Europe and Duke street and the fowl market all clucking outside Larby Sharons and the poor donkeys slipping half asleep and the vague fellows in the cloaks asleep in the shade on the steps and the big wheels of the carts of the bulls and the old castle thousands of years old yes and those handsome Moors all in white and turbans like kings asking you to sit down in their little bit of a shop and Ronda with the old windows of the posadas 2 glancing eyes a lattice hid for her lover to kiss the iron and the wineshops half open at night and the castanets and the night we missed the boat at Algeciras the watchman going about serene with his lamp and O that awful deepdown torrent O and the sea the sea crimson sometimes like fire and the glorious sunsets and the figtrees in the Alameda gardens yes and all the queer little streets and the pink and blue and yellow houses and the rosegardens and the jessamine and geraniums and cactuses and Gibraltar as a girl where I was a Flower of the mountain yes when I put the rose in my hair like the Andalusian girls used or shall I wear a red yes and how he kissed me under the Moorish wall and I thought well as well him as another and then I asked him with my eyes to ask again yes and then he asked me would I yes to say yes my mountain flower and first I put my arms around him yes and drew him down to me so he could feel my breasts all perfume yes and his heart was going like mad and yes I said yes I will Yes.

  • Ulysses, Ch. 18, "Penelope",
    text: Wikisource
  • Audio: pt. 1, 2, 3 (mp3).

Asiaa tohtorille?