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BLOOM: _(Starts up, seizes her hand)_ Hoy! Nebrakada! Cat o' nine lives!
Fair play, madam. No pruningknife. The fox and the grapes, is it? What do you lack with your barbed wire? Crucifix not thick enough? _(He clutches her veil)_ A holy abbot you want or Brophy, the lame gardener, or the spoutless statue of the watercarrier, or good mother Alphonsus, eh Reynard?
THE NYMPH: _(With a cry flees from him unveiled, her plaster cast cracking, a cloud of stench escaping from the cracks)_ Poli...!
BLOOM: _(Calls after her)_ As if you didn't get it on the double yourselves. No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you. I tried it.
Your strength our weakness. What's our studfee? What will you pay on the nail? You fee mendancers on the Riviera, I read. _(The fleeing nymph raises a keen)_ Eh? I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind me. And would a jury give me five s.h.i.+llings alimony tomorrow, eh? Fool someone else, not me. _(He sniffs)_ Rut. Onions. Stale. Sulphur. Grease.
_(The figure of Bella Cohen stands before him.)_
BELLA: You'll know me the next time.
BLOOM: _(Composed, regards her) Pa.s.see._ Mutton dressed as lamb. Long in the tooth and superfluous hair. A raw onion the last thing at night would benefit your complexion. And take some double chin drill. Your eyes are as vapid as the gla.s.seyes of your stuffed fox. They have the dimensions of your other features, that's all. I'm not a triple screw propeller.
BELLA: _(Contemptuously)_ You're not game, in fact. _(Her sowc.u.n.t barks)_ Fbhracht!
BLOOM: _(Contemptuously)_ Clean your nailless middle finger first, your bully's cold s.p.u.n.k is dripping from your c.o.c.ks...o...b.. Take a handful of hay and wipe yourself.
BELLA: I know you, canva.s.ser! Dead cod!
BLOOM: I saw him, kipkeeper! Pox and gleet vendor!
BELLA: _(Turns to the piano)_ Which of you was playing the dead march from _Saul?_
ZOE: Me. Mind your cornflowers. _(She darts to the piano and bangs chords on it with crossed arms)_ The cat's ramble through the slag.
_(She glances back)_ Eh? Who's making love to my sweeties? _(She darts back to the table)_ What's yours is mine and what's mine is my own.
_(Kitty, disconcerted, coats her teeth with the silver paper. Bloom approaches Zoe.)_
BLOOM: _(Gently)_ Give me back that potato, will you?
ZOE: Forfeits, a fine thing and a superfine thing.
BLOOM: _(With feeling)_ It is nothing, but still, a relic of poor mamma.
ZOE:
Give a thing and take it back G.o.d'll ask you where is that You'll say you don't know G.o.d'll send you down below.
BLOOM: There is a memory attached to it. I should like to have it.
STEPHEN: To have or not to have that is the question.
ZOE: Here. _(She hauls up a reef of her slip, revealing her bare thigh, and unrolls the potato from the top of her stocking)_ Those that hides knows where to find.
BELLA: _(Frowns)_ Here. This isn't a musical peepshow. And don't you smash that piano. Who's paying here?
_(She goes to the pianola. Stephen fumbles in his pocket and, taking out a banknote by its corner, hands it to her.)_
STEPHEN: _(With exaggerated politeness)_ This silken purse I made out of the sow's ear of the public. Madam, excuse me. If you allow me. _(He indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom)_ We are all in the same sweepstake, Kinch and Lynch. _Dans ce bordel ou tenons nostre etat_.
LYNCH: _(Calls from the hearth)_ Dedalus! Give her your blessing for me.
STEPHEN: _(Hands Bella a coin)_ Gold. She has it.
BELLA: _(Looks at the money, then at Stephen, then at Zoe, Florry and Kitty)_ Do you want three girls? It's ten s.h.i.+llings here.
STEPHEN: _(Delightedly)_ A hundred thousand apologies. _(He fumbles again and takes out and hands her two crowns)_ Permit, _brevi manu_, my sight is somewhat troubled.
_(Bella goes to the table to count the money while Stephen talks to himself in monosyllables. Zoe bends over the table. Kitty leans over Zoe's neck. Lynch gets up, rights his cap and, clasping Kitty's waist, adds his head to the group.)_
FLORRY: _(Strives heavily to rise)_ Ow! My foot's asleep. _(She limps over to the table. Bloom approaches.)_
BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: _(Chattering and squabbling)_ The gentleman... ten s.h.i.+llings... paying for the three... allow me a moment... this gentleman pays separate... who's touching it?... ow!
... mind who you're pinching... are you staying the night or a short time?... who did?... you're a liar, excuse me... the gentleman paid down like a gentleman... drink... it's long after eleven.
STEPHEN: _(At the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence)_ No bottles!
What, eleven? A riddle!
ZOE: _(Lifting up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the top of her stocking)_ Hard earned on the flat of my back.
LYNCH: _(Lifting Kitty from the table)_ Come!
KITTY: Wait. _(She clutches the two crowns)_
FLORRY: And me?
LYNCH: Hoopla! _(He lifts her, carries her and b.u.mps her down on the sofa.)_
STEPHEN:
The fox crew, the c.o.c.ks flew, The bells in heaven Were striking eleven.
'Tis time for her poor soul To get out of heaven.
BLOOM: _(Quietly lays a half sovereign on the table between bella and florry)_ So. Allow me. _(He takes up the poundnote)_ Three times ten.
We're square.
BELLA: _(Admiringly)_ You're such a slyboots, old c.o.c.ky. I could kiss you.
ZOE: _(Points)_ Him? Deep as a drawwell. _(Lynch bends Kitty back over the sofa and kisses her. Bloom goes with the poundnote to Stephen.)_
BLOOM: This is yours.
STEPHEN: How is that? _Les distrait_ or absentminded beggar. _(He fumbles again in his pocket and draws out a handful of coins. An object fills.)_ That fell.
BLOOM: _(Stooping, picks up and hands a box of matches)_ This.
STEPHEN: Lucifer. Thanks.
