No. 23

  crowd (sings):

  Lynch him and roast him.

  Crucify him!

  citizen (sings):

  Devil of hell, was

  This our new Jesus?

  Look at him – he’s as

  Bad as Parnell was.

  crowd (sings):

  Lead him to the nearest scaffold,

  Let his shirt and pants be raffled,

  Drown him in the nearest river,

  Let the dogs devour his liver.

  bloom: This is midsummer madness, some ghastly joke. By heaven, I am guiltless as the unsunned snow. I call on my old friend, Dr Malachi Mulligan, sex specialist, to give medical testimony on my behalf.

  mulligan: Born out of bedlock, hereditary epilepsy is present, the consequences of unbridled lust. He is prematurely bald from self-abuse, perversely idealistic in consequence, and has metal teeth. I have made a prevaginal examination and, after application of the acid test to 5,427 anal, axillary and pubic hairs, I declare him to be virgo intacta.

  cunnningham: Set fire to him!

  Sizzle cymbal, noise of flames.

  mr dedalus: And he shall carry the sins of the people to Azazal. And they shall stone him and defile him as far as Mizraim, the land of Ham.

  bloom: No! No! No!

  Silence for a second.

  bloom: Where am I?

  zoe: Come to, have you? In the parlour of Mrs Cohen. Who has a fag now I’m here?

  lynch: Here. Catch.

  zoe: Is that the way to hand the pot to a lady?

  florry: Sing us something. Love’s old sweet song.

  stephen: Spirit is willing but the larynx is weak.

  florry: I’m sure you’re a spoiled priest.

  lynch. Spoiled beast, you mean. He’s only just back from Paris.

  zoe: Oh, tell us all about Paris.

  florry: Give us some parley-voo.

  No. 24

  stephen (sings):

  Paris is a lamp lit for lovers

  Aloft in the wood of the world.

  Blaze of noon or moonlight discovers

  Miraculous duchies or earldoms

  For lovers:

  Paris uncovers

  Riches never guessed at before,

  But Paris is a bitch and a whore.

  The whores make sounds of shock at the rude words. Cancan tempo.

  She’ll tell you

  What you want to listen to

  And she’ll sell you

  What you want to buy.

  She’ll teach you

  How to reach sublimities

  Whose only limit is

  The sky.

  Teknophily, necrophily, cynophily, tragophily,

  And modes of gerontophily

  Too numerous to enumerate.

  Flesh perfumed and flesh illumed

  Or painted to seem new-exhumed,

  And everything consumed

  At a remarkable consumer rate.

  The cancan continues on the orchestra. Stephen speaks in the manner of a show barker.

  All chic womans which arrive full of modesty then disrobe and squeal loud to see vampire man debauch nun very fresh young with dessous troublants. Ho la la. Ce pif qu’il a!

  whores: Bravo! Parley-voo!

  stephen: Rubber statue woman reversible or lifesize tompeeptoms virgins nudities very lesbic. I love you sir darling. How much cost? Waterloo. Water-closet.

  The cancan stops and stephen concludes in the style of the opening.

  The river that the lover discovers

  Is gilded and mother-of-pearled.

  Its city is a lamp lit for lovers

  Aloft in the wood of the world,

  In the wood of the world.

  Heavy feet approach behind a closed door.

  bloom: Who’s that? God, he comes here sometimes. Suppose it’s him. After? Or because not? Or the double event? Oh, no no no . . .

  But bella cohen enters, deep-voiced.

  bella: My word, I’m all of a mucksweat. Ah, a married man, I take it.

  bloom: Well, yes, partly . . .

  stephen: the missus is master. Petticoat government. My lace is undone. Tie it. Smell my hot goathide. Feel my royal weight.

  bloom: Exuberant female. Enormously I desiderate your dominion. Too tight?

  bella: If you bungle, Handy Andy, I’ll kick your football for you.

  bloom: Awaiting your further orders, we remain, madam . . .

  bella: Hound of dishonour.

  bloom: Empress.

  bella: Adorer of the adulterous rump.

  bloom: Hugeness.

  bella: Dung-devourer.

  bloom: Magnificence.

  bella: Down! Holy smoke, you little know what’s in store for you. I’m the tartar to settle your little lot and break you in.

  No. 25

  She sings.

  I shall sit on your ottoman-saddleback every morning, my pet,

  After my breakfast of fat ham rashers and a bottle of Guinness’s porter,

  And suck my fat cigar and read the Licensed Victualler’s Gazette

  And contemplate the most exquisite modes of slaughter.

  bloom: Oh, it’s hell itself. Every nerve in my body aches like mad.

  bella

  I shall see you butchered and skewered in my private stable

  And then have you served up steaming at the luncheon table,

  With crisp crackling from the baking tin

  Basted and baked like a loin of veal,

  With sage and onions stuffed within

  And rice and currants and lemon peel –

  By God, you’ll make a scrumptious meal.

  Hold him down, girls, till I squat on him.

  zoe: Yes, walk on him. I will.

  florry: I will, don’t be greedy.

  kitty: No, no, lend him to me.

  bella (sings):

  I see that Guinness’s preference shares are at sixteen and three quarters.

  God curse me for a bloody fool that I didn’t buy some up.

  The viceroy is going off to Bath to take the waters.

  A rank outsider called Throwaway has won the Ascot Cup.

  A rank bloody outsider at bloody twenty to one.

  Where’s that Goddamned bloody ashtray gone?

  Ah, that’ll do.

  bloom: Oh! Monster! Cruel one!

  bella (sings):

  Get up, you bloody thing, there’s a lot for you to do.

  You’ll make the beds in the morning, aye, and empty the pisspots too,

  And rinse them well or you’ll lap it up like champagne.

  I’ll spank your bot with a hairbrush till you scream out with the damn pain –

  What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you?

  Where’s your curly teapot gone? Who docked it, cocky-olly?

  Buy a bucket and sell your pump. Can you do a man’s job?

  bloom: Number 7, Eccles Street –

  bella:

  Oh, how frightfully jolly.

  There’s a man of brawn in possession there with his hunkers on the hob.

  And he’s no eunuch, matey. He’s a shock of ginger hair

  Sticking out behind like a furze-bush. You know who it is,

  You just wait nine months – it’s coughing and kicking there

  Down in her guts already. The whole world knows it’s his.

  And the whole world knows what you are, you bloody old buffoon -

  A rotten rancid rusty (spits) spittoon!

  Heavy feet approach behind a closed door.

  bloom: Who’s that? God, he comes here sometimes No it’s her . . .

  For bella cohen enters, deep-voiced.

  bella: Who do you think you’re staring at?

  bloom: Sorry. I thought we’d . . . met.

  bella: Well, you’ll know me another time. Who’s paying here?

  stephen: Madame, voici. The silken purse I made out of the sow’s ear of the public.

  bella: This is a ten-shilling house. Do you want three girls?

  bloom: Don’t give her everything. You’d better hand that cash over to me to take care of.

  stephen: All right then. Take. Be just before you are generous. It doesn’t matter a rambling damn.

  bella: Come on now, no games. Money down.

  A barrel organ outside starts to play ‘Mother’.

  stephen: Tune is familiar.

  zoe: You can’t do anything till you sober up. Let’s dance.

  bella: Look, this isn’t a dance hall.

  bloom: Come on, dance.

  Skirts swish, feet scrape, stephen sings.

  stephen:

  Mother, mother,

  Water won’t stay in a sieve.

  You want me in and I want me out.

  Biology’s what the whole thing’s about.

  You’ve finished your job,

  Forget and forgive.

  For God’s sake let me alone and let me . . .

  The dance grows faster. Suddenly it stops. Macabre music.

  stephen: No. Get back in the grave. I don’t want you, mother.

  stephen’s mother: I was once the beautiful May Goulding. I am dead.

  stephen: What are you? What bogeyman’s trick is this?

  mother: All must go through it, Stephen. You too. Time will come.

  stephen: They said I killed you, mother. I didn’t. Cancer did it.

  mother: You sang that song to me. Love’s bitter mystery. Sing no more, Stephen. Pray. Pray for the suffering souls. Forty days indulgence. Repent, Stephen.

  stephen: Ghoul! Hyena!

  mother: I pray for you in my other world. Years and years I loved you, O my son, my firstborn, when you lay in my womb.

  zoe: I’m melting.

  florry: Look, he looks like death.

  bloom: Giddy.

  mother: Repent, repent. O the fire of hell.

  stephen: Corpse-chewer. Raw head and bloody bones!

  mother: Beware! Beware! God’s hand is like a crab on your heart.

  stephen: Shite. With me all or not at all. I will not serve.

  mother: O sacred heart of Jesus, have mercy on him. Save him from hell, O divine Sacred Heart!

  stephen: No. No! Break my spirit all of you if you can. I’ll bring you all to heel!

  mother (in the agony of death): Have mercy on Stephen, Lord, for my sake. Inexpressible was my anguish when expiring with love, grief and agony on Mount Calvary.

  stephen: My stick, give me my stick. Nothung!

  There is a tinkling and crashing sound as he smashes the chandelier.

  lynch: After him. For Christ’s sake don’t run amok. Hold on.

  zoe: Police, fetch the –

  bella: Who pays for the chandelier? You were with him.

  bloom: I’ve got to get to him. He may do himself a –

  bella: Ten shillings.

  bloom: Ten shillings! Haven’t you had enough off him?

  bella: Here, none of your tall talk. This isn’t a common brothel. Do you want me to call the police?

  bloom: Oh, I know, bulldog on the premises. He’s a Trinity student. Nephew of the vice-chancellor. You don’t want a scandal . . .

  And if it were your own son at Oxford?

  bella (astonished): Who are you?

  bloom: Never mind. There’s a shilling.

  We hear it roll on to the table. Then the noises of the open air are upon us.

  stephen:

  White thy fambles, red thy gan

  And thy quarrons dainty is.

  Couch a hogshead with me then.

  In the darkmans clip and kiss.

  cissy: Harry, Harry, do you hear him?

  carr: Is he insulting you? You, was you insulting her?

  stephen: Addressed her in vocative feminine.

  No. 26

  crowd (sings):

  What’s up? Soldiers and civilians.

  Looks like a row between the black and the red.

  cissy: This young man come up to me, see, right behind me. But I’m faithful to the man that’s treating me though I’m only a shilling whore.

  crowd (sings):

  She said she’s a whore but she’s always faithful

  To the feller that’s treating her, that’s what she said.

  carr: Was he insulting you while me and him was having a piss?

  compton: Biff him, Harry.

  carr: Say, how would it be, guvnor, if I was to bash in your jaw?

  bloom: Come on, professor, your cab is waiting.

  crowd (sings):

  Did you hear what he said? He’s a Trinity professor.

  Nice sort of place for a professor to be in.

  stephen: Struggle for life is the law of existence but modern experts have invented arbitration, notably the Czar and the King of England.

  carr: What’s that you’re saying about my king?

  crowd (sings):

  Sounds like the professor has said something that he shouldn’t.

  Looks like a rumpus is going to begin.

  carr: Go on, say it again.

  stephen: But it is here in my brain that I must kill the priest and the king.

  compton: Here, Harry, give him a kick in the knackers. Stick one into Jerry.

  bloom: Gentlemen, soldiers. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Taking a little more than is good for him. I know him. He’s a gentleman, a poet. It’s all right.

  carr: I don’t give a bugger who he is.

  compton: We don’t give a bugger who he is.

  stephen: I seem to annoy them. Green rag to a bull.

  No. 27

  citizen (sings):

  May the God above

  Send down a cove

  With teeth as sharp as razors

  To slit the throats

  Of the English dogs

  That hanged our Irish leaders.

  No. 28

  crowd (sings):

  God’s curse on England,

  Sinful enslavers.

  Heaven will save us

  From England’s king.

  carr: I’ll wring the neck of any bugger says a word against my fucking king.

  bloom: He said nothing. Not a word. A pure mis-understanding.

  citizen: Erin go bragh!

  carr: I’ll do the Irish bastard in.

  compton: Back there, back. Fair play. Make a bleeding butcher’s shop of the bugger.

  No. 29

  crowd (sings):

  Sing a patriotic chorus

  Praising this fair land that bore us,

  Wishing England every sorrow,

  Promising to fight tomorrow.

  carr: I’ll wring the neck of any fucking bastard says a word against my bastard fucking king.

  cissy: Leave him, Harry. Amn’t I your girl? Aren’t I with you? Police!

  stephen: Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

  Thou art more lovely and more . . .

  cissy: Come on, Harry, you’re boozed. He insulted me but I forgive him.

  carr: I’ll insult the bastard.

  Sound of a blow, stephen groans, falls. The crowd cries.

  crowd: Let him up, let him up,

  Don’t strike him when he’s down.

  The soldier hit the professor.

  Is he hurted? Don’t manhandle him.

  Give him air. He’s fainted.

  Police whistles start shrilling.

  compton: Here, let’s bugger off, Harry. They’ll have us in the lockup.

  carr: God fuck ’em. I don’t give a shit for any of them.

  But they can be heard rushing off.

  No. 30

  crowd (sings):

  That’s the way the English treat us,

  Curry us and flog and beat us.

  And the polis support their rages

  Since they live off English wages.

  (Counterpoint)

  Vengeance is coming,

  Soon, any day now,

  Go home and pray now:

  God set us free.

  crowd disappearing. We hear stephen moaning.

  bloom: Mr Dedalus. The name if you call. Mr Dedalus.

  Stephen. Stephen.

  stephen (indistinctly): Who? Black panther vampire.

  And no more turn aside and brood

  Upon love’s bitter mystery,

  For Fergus rules the brazen cars . . .

  bloom: Poetry. Well-educated, pity. Face reminds me of his poor mother. Ferguson. I think I caught. Miss Ferguson. Some girl. Brazen, he said.

  The chant Koi Nidrei can be heard sung by a boy.

  bloom: Rudy!

  Scene Ten

  A cabman’s shelter. A harmonica plays ‘Goodbye Dear’. Clank of mugs.

  shelterkeeper: Here y’are den. One coffee. Two buns. Fivepence.

  murphy: Do any of youse have such a thing as a spare chaw about you?

  driver 1: Spare – ?

  murphy: Chaw. Chaw. Quid of plug. For chawing.

  driver 2: Ah. Here.

  murphy (chewing): Thanks, matey. Aye, we come up this morning eleven o’clock. The threemaster Rosevean from Bridgwater with bricks. Paid off this afternoon. There’s me discharge, see. W. B. Murphy, ABS.

  driver 1: You must have seen a fair share of the world.

  muprhy: Why, I’ve circumnavigated a bit since I first joined on. I was in the Red Sea. I was in China and North America and South America. I seen icebergs plenty, growlers. I was in Stockholm and the Black Sea, the Dardanelles, under Captain Dalton, the best bloody man that ever scuttled a ship. I seen Russia. Gospodi pomilooy. That’s how the Russians prays.

  driver 2: You seen queer sights, don’t be talking.

  murphy: Why, I seen queer things, ups and downs. I seen a crocodile bite the fluke of an anchor same as I chaw this quid. Khaaaaan. Like that. And I seen man-eaters in Peru that eats corpses and horses’ livers. Look here. Here they are. On this postcard a friend of mine sent me . . .

  driver 1: Ah.

  murphy: Chaws coca all day long. Stummicks like bread-graters. Cuts off their diddies when they can’t bear no more children. See them there stark ballock-naked eating a dead horse’s liver raw. Know how to keep ’em off?