Episode 11: Sirens (Literary technique: Fuga per canonem (fugue or polyphony by rule: weaving of various voices and motifs in counterpoint to one another). Art: Music. Time: 38 40 pm. Place: Ormond Hotel



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Bella Cohen, the whore-mistress, comes in, and Bloom slips into an extended hallucination centering on his sexuality. Bella becomes Bello, and Bloom is transformed into a female prostitute and is accused of all the peccadillos that have haunted his subconscious as he struggles to cope with the shame and the masochistic pleasure of their revelation. Bloom submits to one humiliation after another until he is confronted with the Nymph from the picture that hangs in his bedroom who reveals Bloom’s innermost secrets and desires. However, when Bloom’s back trouser button pops off unexpectedly, the hallucination--and control exercised by these figures from his subconsciousnness--is broken. Bloom chases off the Nymph before re-establishing himself before the once again feminine Bella. Bloom retrieves his potato back from Zoe.

(THE DOOR OPENS. BELLA COHEN, A MASSIVE WHOREMISTRESS, ENTERS. SHE IS

DRESSED IN A THREEQUARTER IVORY GOWN, FRINGED ROUND THE HEM WITH

TASSELLED SELVEDGE, AND COOLS HERSELF FLIRTING A BLACK HORN FAN LIKE

MINNIE HAUCK IN Carmen. ON HER LEFT HAND ARE WEDDING AND KEEPER RINGS.

HER EYES ARE DEEPLY CARBONED. SHE HAS A SPROUTING MOUSTACHE. HER OLIVE

FACE IS HEAVY, SLIGHTLY SWEATED AND FULLNOSED WITH ORANGETAINTED

NOSTRILS. SHE HAS LARGE PENDANT BERYL EARDROPS.)
BELLA: My word! I'm all of a mucksweat.
(SHE GLANCES ROUND HER AT THE COUPLES. THEN HER EYES REST ON BLOOM WITH

HARD INSISTENCE. HER LARGE FAN WINNOWS WIND TOWARDS HER HEATED FACENECK

AND EMBONPOINT. HER FALCON EYES GLITTER.)
THE FAN: (FLIRTING QUICKLY, THEN SLOWLY) Married, I see.
BLOOM: Yes. Partly, I have mislaid ...
THE FAN: (HALF OPENING, THEN CLOSING) And the missus is master. Petticoat

government.
BLOOM: (LOOKS DOWN WITH A SHEEPISH GRIN) That is so.
THE FAN: (FOLDING TOGETHER, RESTS AGAINST HER LEFT EARDROP) Have you

forgotten me?
BLOOM: Yes. Yo.
THE FAN: (FOLDED AKIMBO AGAINST HER WAIST) Is me her was you dreamed

before? Was then she him you us since knew? Am all them and the same now

we?
(BELLA APPROACHES, GENTLY TAPPING WITH THE FAN.)
BLOOM: (WINCING) Powerful being. In my eyes read that slumber which women

love.
THE FAN: (TAPPING) We have met. You are mine. It is fate.
BLOOM: (COWED) Exuberant female. Enormously I desiderate your domination.

I am exhausted, abandoned, no more young. I stand, so to speak, with an

unposted letter bearing the extra regulation fee before the too late box

of the general postoffice of human life. The door and window open at a

right angle cause a draught of thirtytwo feet per second according to the

law of falling bodies. I have felt this instant a twinge of sciatica in

my left glutear muscle. It runs in our family. Poor dear papa, a widower,

was a regular barometer from it. He believed in animal heat. A skin of

tabby lined his winter waistcoat. Near the end, remembering king David

and the Sunamite, he shared his bed with Athos, faithful after death. A

dog's spittle as you probably ... (HE WINCES) Ah!
RICHIE GOULDING: (BAGWEIGHTED, PASSES THE DOOR) Mocking is catch. Best

value in Dub. Fit for a prince's. Liver and kidney.
THE FAN: (TAPPING) All things end. Be mine. Now,
BLOOM: (UNDECIDED) All now? I should not have parted with my talisman.

Rain, exposure at dewfall on the searocks, a peccadillo at my time of

life. Every phenomenon has a natural cause.
THE FAN: (POINTS DOWNWARDS SLOWLY) You may.
BLOOM: (LOOKS DOWNWARDS AND PERCEIVES HER UNFASTENED BOOTLACE) We are

observed.
THE FAN: (POINTS DOWNWARDS QUICKLY) You must.
BLOOM: (WITH DESIRE, WITH RELUCTANCE) I can make a true black knot.

Learned when I served my time and worked the mail order line for

Kellett's. Experienced hand. Every knot says a lot. Let me. In courtesy.

I knelt once before today. Ah!
(BELLA RAISES HER GOWN SLIGHTLY AND, STEADYING HER POSE, LIFTS TO THE

EDGE OF A CHAIR A PLUMP BUSKINED HOOF AND A FULL PASTERN, SILKSOCKED.

BLOOM, STIFFLEGGED, AGING, BENDS OVER HER HOOF AND WITH GENTLE FINGERS

DRAWS OUT AND IN HER LACES.)
BLOOM: (MURMURS LOVINGLY) To be a shoefitter in Manfield's was my love's

young dream, the darling joys of sweet buttonhooking, to lace up

crisscrossed to kneelength the dressy kid footwear satinlined, so

incredibly impossibly small, of Clyde Road ladies. Even their wax model

Raymonde I visited daily to admire her cobweb hose and stick of rhubarb

toe, as worn in Paris.
THE HOOF: Smell my hot goathide. Feel my royal weight.
BLOOM: (CROSSLACING) Too tight?
THE HOOF: If you bungle, Handy Andy, I'll kick your football for you.
BLOOM: Not to lace the wrong eyelet as I did the night of the bazaar

dance. Bad luck. Hook in wrong tache of her ... person you mentioned.

That night she met ... Now!
(HE KNOTS THE LACE. BELLA PLACES HER FOOT ON THE FLOOR. BLOOM RAISES HIS

HEAD. HER HEAVY FACE, HER EYES STRIKE HIM IN MIDBROW. HIS EYES GROW DULL,

DARKER AND POUCHED, HIS NOSE THICKENS.)
BLOOM: (MUMBLES) Awaiting your further orders we remain, gentlemen, ...
BELLO: (WITH A HARD BASILISK STARE, IN A BARITONE VOICE) Hound of

dishonour!
BLOOM: (INFATUATED) Empress!
BELLO: (HIS HEAVY CHEEKCHOPS SAGGING) Adorer of the adulterous rump!
BLOOM: (PLAINTIVELY) Hugeness!
BELLO: Dungdevourer!
BLOOM: (WITH SINEWS SEMIFLEXED) Magmagnificence!
BELLO: Down! (HE TAPS HER ON THE SHOULDER WITH HIS FAN) Incline feet

forward! Slide left foot one pace back! You will fall. You are falling.

On the hands down!
BLOOM: (HER EYES UPTURNED IN THE SIGN OF ADMIRATION, CLOSING, YAPS)

Truffles!
(WITH A PIERCING EPILEPTIC CRY SHE SINKS ON ALL FOURS, GRUNTING,

SNUFFLING, ROOTING AT HIS FEET: THEN LIES, SHAMMING DEAD, WITH EYES SHUT

TIGHT, TREMBLING EYELIDS, BOWED UPON THE GROUND IN THE ATTITUDE OF MOST

EXCELLENT MASTER.)
BELLO: (WITH BOBBED HAIR, PURPLE GILLS, FIT MOUSTACHE RINGS ROUND HIS

SHAVEN MOUTH, IN MOUNTAINEER'S PUTTEES, GREEN SILVERBUTTONED COAT, SPORT

SKIRT AND ALPINE HAT WITH MOORCOCK'S FEATHER, HIS HANDS STUCK DEEP IN HIS

BREECHES POCKETS, PLACES HIS HEEL ON HER NECK AND GRINDS IT IN)

Footstool! Feel my entire weight. Bow, bondslave, before the throne of

your despot's glorious heels so glistening in their proud erectness.
BLOOM: (ENTHRALLED, BLEATS) I promise never to disobey.
BELLO: (LAUGHS LOUDLY) Holy smoke! You little know what's in store for

you. I'm the Tartar to settle your little lot and break you in! I'll bet

Kentucky cocktails all round I shame it out of you, old son. Cheek me, I

dare you. If you do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be

inflicted in gym costume.
(BLOOM CREEPS UNDER THE SOFA AND PEERS OUT THROUGH THE FRINGE.)
ZOE: (WIDENING HER SLIP TO SCREEN HER) She's not here.
BLOOM: (CLOSING HER EYES) She's not here.
FLORRY: (HIDING HER WITH HER GOWN) She didn't mean it, Mr Bello. She'll

be good, sir.
KITTY: Don't be too hard on her, Mr Bello. Sure you won't, ma'amsir.
BELLO: (COAXINGLY) Come, ducky dear, I want a word with you, darling,

just to administer correction. Just a little heart to heart talk, sweety.

(BLOOM PUTS OUT HER TIMID HEAD) There's a good girly now. (BELLO GRABS

HER HAIR VIOLENTLY AND DRAGS HER FORWARD) I only want to correct you for

your own good on a soft safe spot. How's that tender behind? O, ever so

gently, pet. Begin to get ready.
BLOOM: (FAINTING) Don't tear my ...
BELLO: (SAVAGELY) The nosering, the pliers, the bastinado, the hanging

hook, the knout I'll make you kiss while the flutes play like the Nubian

slave of old. You're in for it this time! I'll make you remember me for

the balance of your natural life. (HIS FOREHEAD VEINS SWOLLEN, HIS FACE

CONGESTED) I shall sit on your ottoman saddleback every morning after my

thumping good breakfast of Matterson's fat hamrashers and a bottle of

Guinness's porter. (HE BELCHES) And suck my thumping good Stock Exchange

cigar while I read the LICENSED VICTUALLER'S GAZETTE. Very possibly I

shall have you slaughtered and skewered in my stables and enjoy a slice

of you with crisp crackling from the baking tin basted and baked like

sucking pig with rice and lemon or currant sauce. It will hurt you. (HE

TWISTS HER ARM. BLOOM SQUEALS, TURNING TURTLE.)
BLOOM: Don't be cruel, nurse! Don't!
BELLO: (TWISTING) Another!
BLOOM: (SCREAMS) O, it's hell itself! Every nerve in my body aches like

mad!
BELLO: (SHOUTS) Good, by the rumping jumping general! That's the best bit

of news I heard these six weeks. Here, don't keep me waiting, damn you!

(HE SLAPS HER FACE)
BLOOM: (WHIMPERS) You're after hitting me. I'll tell ...
BELLO: 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, me. Lend him to me.
(THE BROTHEL COOK, MRS KEOGH, WRINKLED, GREYBEARDED, IN A GREASY BIB,

MEN'S GREY AND GREEN SOCKS AND BROGUES, FLOURSMEARED, A ROLLINGPIN STUCK

WITH RAW PASTRY IN HER BARE RED ARM AND HAND, APPEARS AT THE DOOR.)
MRS KEOGH: (FEROCIOUSLY) Can I help? (THEY HOLD AND PINION BLOOM.)
BELLO: (SQUATS WITH A GRUNT ON BLOOM'S UPTURNED FACE, PUFFING CIGARSMOKE,

NURSING A FAT LEG) I see Keating Clay is elected vicechairman of the

Richmond asylum and by the by Guinness's preference shares are at sixteen

three quaffers. Curse me for a fool that didn't buy that lot Craig and

Gardner told me about. Just my infernal luck, curse it. And that

Goddamned outsider THROWAWAY at twenty to one. (HE QUENCHES HIS CIGAR

ANGRILY ON BLOOM'S EAR) Where's that Goddamned cursed ashtray?
BLOOM: (GOADED, BUTTOCKSMOTHERED) O! O! Monsters! Cruel one!
BELLO: Ask for that every ten minutes. Beg. Pray for it as you never

prayed before. (HE THRUSTS OUT A FIGGED FIST AND FOUL CIGAR) Here, kiss

that. Both. Kiss. (HE THROWS A LEG ASTRIDE AND, PRESSING WITH HORSEMAN'S

KNEES, CALLS IN A HARD VOICE) Gee up! A cockhorse to Banbury cross. I'll

ride him for the Eclipse stakes. (HE BENDS SIDEWAYS AND SQUEEZES HIS

MOUNT'S TESTICLES ROUGHLY, SHOUTING) Ho! Off we pop! I'll nurse you in

proper fashion. (HE HORSERIDES COCKHORSE, LEAPING IN THE SADDLE) The lady

goes a pace a pace and the coachman goes a trot a trot and the gentleman

goes a gallop a gallop a gallop a gallop.
FLORRY: (PULLS AT BELLO) Let me on him now. You had enough. I asked

before you.
ZOE: (PULLING AT FLORRY) Me. Me. Are you not finished with him yet,

suckeress?
BLOOM: (STIFLING) Can't.
BELLO: Well, I'm not. Wait. (HE HOLDS IN HIS BREATH) Curse it. Here. This

bung's about burst. (HE UNCORKS HIMSELF BEHIND: THEN, CONTORTING HIS

FEATURES, FARTS LOUDLY) Take that! (HE RECORKS HIMSELF) Yes, by Jingo,

sixteen three quarters.
BLOOM: (A SWEAT BREAKING OUT OVER HIM) Not man. (HE SNIFFS) Woman.
BELLO: (STANDS UP) No more blow hot and cold. What you longed for has

come to pass. Henceforth you are unmanned and mine in earnest, a thing

under the yoke. Now for your punishment frock. You will shed your male

garments, you understand, Ruby Cohen? and don the shot silk luxuriously

rustling over head and shoulders. And quickly too!
BLOOM: (SHRINKS) Silk, mistress said! O crinkly! scrapy! Must I tiptouch

it with my nails?
BELLO: (POINTS TO HIS WHORES) As they are now so will you be, wigged,

singed, perfumesprayed, ricepowdered, with smoothshaven armpits. Tape

measurements will be taken next your skin. You will be laced with cruel

force into vicelike corsets of soft dove coutille with whalebone busk to

the diamondtrimmed pelvis, the absolute outside edge, while your figure,

plumper than when at large, will be restrained in nettight frocks, pretty

two ounce petticoats and fringes and things stamped, of course, with my

houseflag, creations of lovely lingerie for Alice and nice scent for

Alice. Alice will feel the pullpull. Martha and Mary will be a little

chilly at first in such delicate thighcasing but the frilly flimsiness of

lace round your bare knees will remind you ...
BLOOM: (A CHARMING SOUBRETTE WITH DAUBY CHEEKS, MUSTARD HAIR AND LARGE

MALE HANDS AND NOSE, LEERING MOUTH) I tried her things on only twice, a

small prank, in Holles street. When we were hard up I washed them to save

the laundry bill. My own shirts I turned. It was the purest thrift.
BELLO: (JEERS) Little jobs that make mother pleased, eh? And showed off

coquettishly in your domino at the mirror behind closedrawn blinds your

unskirted thighs and hegoat's udders in various poses of surrender, eh?

Ho! ho! I have to laugh! That secondhand black operatop shift and short

trunkleg naughties all split up the stitches at her last rape that Mrs

Miriam Dandrade sold you from the Shelbourne hotel, eh?
BLOOM: Miriam. Black. Demimondaine.
BELLO: (GUFFAWS) Christ Almighty it's too tickling, this! You were a

nicelooking Miriam when you clipped off your backgate hairs and lay

swooning in the thing across the bed as Mrs Dandrade about to be violated

by lieutenant Smythe-Smythe, Mr Philip Augustus Blockwell M. P., signor

Laci Daremo, the robust tenor, blueeyed Bert, the liftboy, Henri Fleury

of Gordon Bennett fame, Sheridan, the quadroon Croesus, the varsity

wetbob eight from old Trinity, Ponto, her splendid Newfoundland and Bobs,

dowager duchess of Manorhamilton. (HE GUFFAWS AGAIN) Christ, wouldn't it

make a Siamese cat laugh?
BLOOM: (HER HANDS AND FEATURES WORKING) It was Gerald converted me to be

a true corsetlover when I was female impersonator in the High School play

VICE VERSA. It was dear Gerald. He got that kink, fascinated by sister's

stays. Now dearest Gerald uses pinky greasepaint and gilds his eyelids.

Cult of the beautiful.
BELLO: (WITH WICKED GLEE) Beautiful! Give us a breather! When you took

your seat with womanish care, lifting your billowy flounces, on the

smoothworn throne.
BLOOM: Science. To compare the various joys we each enjoy. (EARNESTLY)

And really it's better the position ... because often I used to wet ...
BELLO: (STERNLY) No insubordination! The sawdust is there in the corner

for you. I gave you strict instructions, didn't I? Do it standing, sir!

I'll teach you to behave like a jinkleman! If I catch a trace on your

swaddles. Aha! By the ass of the Dorans you'll find I'm a martinet. The

sins of your past are rising against you. Many. Hundreds.
THE SINS OF THE PAST: (IN A MEDLEY OF VOICES) He went through a form of

clandestine marriage with at least one woman in the shadow of the Black

church. Unspeakable messages he telephoned mentally to Miss Dunn at an

address in D'Olier street while he presented himself indecently to the

instrument in the callbox. By word and deed he frankly encouraged a

nocturnal strumpet to deposit fecal and other matter in an unsanitary

outhouse attached to empty premises. In five public conveniences he wrote

pencilled messages offering his nuptial partner to all strongmembered

males. And by the offensively smelling vitriol works did he not pass

night after night by loving courting couples to see if and what and how

much he could see? Did he not lie in bed, the gross boar, gloating over a

nauseous fragment of wellused toilet paper presented to him by a nasty

harlot, stimulated by gingerbread and a postal order?
BELLO: (WHISTLES LOUDLY) Say! What was the most revolting piece of

obscenity in all your career of crime? Go the whole hog. Puke it out! Be

candid for once.
(MUTE INHUMAN FACES THRONG FORWARD, LEERING, VANISHING, GIBBERING,

BOOLOOHOOM. POLDY KOCK, BOOTLACES A PENNY CASSIDY'S HAG, BLIND STRIPLING,

LARRY RHINOCEROS, THE GIRL, THE WOMAN, THE WHORE, THE OTHER, THE ...)
BLOOM: Don't ask me! Our mutual faith. Pleasants street. I only thought

the half of the ... I swear on my sacred oath ...
BELLO: (PEREMPTORILY) Answer. Repugnant wretch! I insist on knowing. Tell

me something to amuse me, smut or a bloody good ghoststory or a line of

poetry, quick, quick, quick! Where? How? What time? With how many? I give

you just three seconds. One! Two! Thr ...
BLOOM: (DOCILE, GURGLES) I rererepugnosed in rerererepugnant
BELLO: (IMPERIOUSLY) O, get out, you skunk! Hold your tongue! Speak when

you're spoken to.
BLOOM: (BOWS) Master! Mistress! Mantamer!
(HE LIFTS HIS ARMS. HIS BANGLE BRACELETS FILL.)
BELLO: (SATIRICALLY) By day you will souse and bat our smelling

underclothes also when we ladies are unwell, and swab out our latrines

with dress pinned up and a dishclout tied to your tail. Won't that be

nice? (HE PLACES A RUBY RING ON HER FINGER) And there now! With this ring

I thee own. Say, thank you, mistress.
BLOOM: Thank you, mistress.
BELLO: You will make the beds, get my tub ready, empty the pisspots in

the different rooms, including old Mrs Keogh's the cook's, a sandy one.

Ay, and rinse the seven of them well, mind, or lap it up like champagne.

Drink me piping hot. Hop! You will dance attendance or I'll lecture you

on your misdeeds, Miss Ruby, and spank your bare bot right well, miss,

with the hairbrush. You'll be taught the error of your ways. At night

your wellcreamed braceletted hands will wear fortythreebutton gloves

newpowdered with talc and having delicately scented fingertips. For such

favours knights of old laid down their lives. (HE CHUCKLES) My boys will

be no end charmed to see you so ladylike, the colonel, above all, when

they come here the night before the wedding to fondle my new attraction

in gilded heels. First I'll have a go at you myself. A man I know on the

turf named Charles Alberta Marsh (I was in bed with him just now and

another gentleman out of the Hanaper and Petty Bag office) is on the

lookout for a maid of all work at a short knock. Swell the bust. Smile.

Droop shoulders. What offers? (HE POINTS) For that lot. Trained by owner

to fetch and carry, basket in mouth. (HE BARES HIS ARM AND PLUNGES IT

ELBOWDEEP IN BLOOM'S VULVA) There's fine depth for you! What, boys? That

give you a hardon? (HE SHOVES HIS ARM IN A BIDDER'S FACE) Here wet the

deck and wipe it round!
A BIDDER: A florin.
(DILLON'S LACQUEY RINGS HIS HANDBELL.)
THE LACQUEY: Barang!
A VOICE: One and eightpence too much.
CHARLES ALBERTA MARSH: Must be virgin. Good breath. Clean.
BELLO: (GIVES A RAP WITH HIS GAVEL) Two bar. Rockbottom figure and cheap

at the price. Fourteen hands high. Touch and examine his points. Handle

him. This downy skin, these soft muscles, this tender flesh. If I had

only my gold piercer here! And quite easy to milk. Three newlaid gallons

a day. A pure stockgetter, due to lay within the hour. His sire's milk

record was a thousand gallons of whole milk in forty weeks. Whoa my

jewel! Beg up! Whoa! (HE BRANDS HIS INITIAL C ON BLOOM'S CROUP) So!

Warranted Cohen! What advance on two bob, gentlemen?
A DARKVISAGED MAN: (IN DISGUISED ACCENT) Hoondert punt sterlink.
VOICES: (SUBDUED) For the Caliph. Haroun Al Raschid.
BELLO: (GAILY) Right. Let them all come. The scanty, daringly short

skirt, riding up at the knee to show a peep of white pantalette, is a

potent weapon and transparent stockings, emeraldgartered, with the long

straight seam trailing up beyond the knee, appeal to the better instincts

of the BLASE man about town. Learn the smooth mincing walk on four inch

Louis Quinze heels, the Grecian bend with provoking croup, the thighs

fluescent, knees modestly kissing. Bring all your powers of fascination

to bear on them. Pander to their Gomorrahan vices.
BLOOM: (BENDS HIS BLUSHING FACE INTO HIS ARMPIT AND SIMPERS WITH

FOREFINGER IN MOUTH) O, I know what you're hinting at now!
BELLO: What else are you good for, an impotent thing like you? (HE STOOPS

AND, PEERING, POKES WITH HIS FAN RUDELY UNDER THE FAT SUET FOLDS OF

BLOOM'S HAUNCHES) Up! Up! Manx cat! What have we here? Where's your curly

teapot gone to or who docked it on you, cockyolly? Sing, birdy, sing.

It's as limp as a boy of six's doing his pooly behind a cart. Buy a

bucket or sell your pump. (LOUDLY) Can you do a man's job?
BLOOM: Eccles street ...
BELLO: (SARCASTICALLY) I wouldn't hurt your feelings for the world but

there's a man of brawn in possession there. The tables are turned, my gay

young fellow! He is something like a fullgrown outdoor man. Well for you,

you muff, if you had that weapon with knobs and lumps and warts all over

it. He shot his bolt, I can tell you! Foot to foot, knee to knee, belly

to belly, bubs to breast! He's no eunuch. A shock of red hair he has

sticking out of him behind like a furzebush! Wait for nine months, my

lad! Holy ginger, it's kicking and coughing up and down in her guts

already! That makes you wild, don't it? Touches the spot? (HE SPITS IN

CONTEMPT) Spittoon!
BLOOM: I was indecently treated, I ... Inform the police. Hundred pounds.

Unmentionable. I ...
BELLO: Would if you could, lame duck. A downpour we want not your

drizzle.
BLOOM: To drive me mad! Moll! I forgot! Forgive! Moll ... We ... Still

...
BELLO: (RUTHLESSLY) No, Leopold Bloom, all is changed by woman's will

since you slept horizontal in Sleepy Hollow your night of twenty years.

Return and see.
(OLD SLEEPY HOLLOW CALLS OVER THE WOLD.)
SLEEPY HOLLOW: Rip van Wink! Rip van Winkle!
BLOOM: (IN TATTERED MOCASSINS WITH A RUSTY FOWLINGPIECE, TIPTOEING,

FINGERTIPPING, HIS HAGGARD BONY BEARDED FACE PEERING THROUGH THE DIAMOND

PANES, CRIES OUT) I see her! It's she! The first night at Mat Dillon's!

But that dress, the green! And her hair is dyed gold and he ...
BELLO: (LAUGHS MOCKINGLY) That's your daughter, you owl, with a Mullingar

student.
(MILLY BLOOM, FAIRHAIRED, GREENVESTED, SLIMSANDALLED, HER BLUE SCARF IN

THE SEAWIND SIMPLY SWIRLING, BREAKS FROM THE ARMS OF HER LOVER AND CALLS,

HER YOUNG EYES WONDERWIDE.)
MILLY: My! It's Papli! But, O Papli, how old you've grown!
BELLO: Changed, eh? Our whatnot, our writingtable where we never wrote,

aunt Hegarty's armchair, our classic reprints of old masters. A man and

his menfriends are living there in clover. The CUCKOOS' REST! Why not?

How many women had you, eh, following them up dark streets, flatfoot,

exciting them by your smothered grunts, what, you male prostitute?

Blameless dames with parcels of groceries. Turn about. Sauce for the

goose, my gander O.
BLOOM: They ... I ...
BELLO: (CUTTINGLY) Their heelmarks will stamp the Brusselette carpet you

bought at Wren's auction. In their horseplay with Moll the romp to find

the buck flea in her breeches they will deface the little statue you

carried home in the rain for art for art' sake. They will violate the

secrets of your bottom drawer. Pages will be torn from your handbook of

astronomy to make them pipespills. And they will spit in your ten

shilling brass fender from Hampton Leedom's.
BLOOM: Ten and six. The act of low scoundrels. Let me go. I will return.

I will prove ...
A VOICE: Swear!
(BLOOM CLENCHES HIS FISTS AND CRAWLS FORWARD, A BOWIEKNIFE BETWEEN HIS

TEETH.)
BELLO: As a paying guest or a kept man? Too late. You have made your

secondbest bed and others must lie in it. Your epitaph is written. You

are down and out and don't you forget it, old bean.
BLOOM: Justice! All Ireland versus one! Has nobody ...? (HE BITES HIS

THUMB)
BELLO: Die and be damned to you if you have any sense of decency or grace

about you. I can give you a rare old wine that'll send you skipping to

hell and back. Sign a will and leave us any coin you have! If you have

none see you damn well get it, steal it, rob it! We'll bury you in our

shrubbery jakes where you'll be dead and dirty with old Cuck Cohen, my

stepnephew I married, the bloody old gouty procurator and sodomite with a

crick in his neck, and my other ten or eleven husbands, whatever the

buggers' names were, suffocated in the one cesspool. (HE EXPLODES IN A

LOUD PHLEGMY LAUGH) We'll manure you, Mr Flower! (HE PIPES SCOFFINGLY)

Byby, Poldy! Byby, Papli!
BLOOM: (CLASPS HIS HEAD) My willpower! Memory! I have sinned! I have suff

...
(HE WEEPS TEARLESSLY)
BELLO: (SNEERS) Crybabby! Crocodile tears!
(BLOOM, BROKEN, CLOSELY VEILED FOR THE SACRIFICE, SOBS, HIS FACE TO THE

EARTH. THE PASSING BELL IS HEARD. DARKSHAWLED FIGURES OF THE CIRCUMCISED,

IN SACKCLOTH AND ASHES, STAND BY THE WAILING WALL. M. SHULOMOWITZ, JOSEPH

GOLDWATER, MOSES HERZOG, HARRIS ROSENBERG, M. MOISEL, J. CITRON, MINNIE

WATCHMAN, P. MASTIANSKY, THE REVEREND LEOPOLD ABRAMOVITZ, CHAZEN. WITH

SWAYING ARMS THEY WAIL IN PNEUMA OVER THE RECREANT BLOOM.)
THE CIRCUMCISED: (IN DARK GUTTURAL CHANT AS THEY CAST DEAD SEA FRUIT UPON

HIM, NO FLOWERS) SHEMA ISRAEL ADONAI ELOHENU ADONAI ECHAD.
VOICES: (SIGHING) So he's gone. Ah yes. Yes, indeed. Bloom? Never heard

of him. No? Queer kind of chap. There's the widow. That so? Ah, yes.


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