Part 107 (1/2)
BLOOM: O
_(Shocked, on weak hams, he halts. Tommy and Jacky vanish there, there.
Bloom pats with parcelled hands watch fobpocket, bookpocket, pursepoket, sweets of sin, potato soap.)_
BLOOM: Beware of pickpockets. Old thieves' dodge. Collide. Then s.n.a.t.c.h your purse.
_(The retriever approaches sniffing, nose to the ground. A sprawled form sneezes. A stooped bearded figure appears garbed in the long caftan of an elder in Zion and a smokingcap with magenta ta.s.sels. Horned spectacles hang down at the wings of the nose. Yellow poison streaks are on the drawn face.)_
RUDOLPH: Second halfcrown waste money today. I told you not go with drunken goy ever. So you catch no money.
BLOOM: _(Hides the crubeen and trotter behind his back and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat) Ja, ich weiss, papachi._
RUDOLPH: What you making down this place? Have you no soul? _(with feeble vulture talons he feels the silent face of Bloom)_ Are you not my son Leopold, the grandson of Leopold? Are you not my dear son Leopold who left the house of his father and left the G.o.d of his fathers Abraham and Jacob?
BLOOM: _(With precaution)_ I suppose so, father. Mosenthal. All that's left of him.
RUDOLPH: _(Severely)_ One night they bring you home drunk as dog after spend your good money. What you call them running chaps?
BLOOM: _(In youth's smart blue Oxford suit with white vestslips, narrowshouldered, in brown Alpine hat, wearing gent's sterling silver waterbury keyless watch and double curb Albert with seal attached, one side of him coated with stiffening mud)_ Harriers, father. Only that once.
RUDOLPH: Once! Mud head to foot. Cut your hand open. Lockjaw. They make you kaputt, Leopoldleben. You watch them chaps.
BLOOM: _(Weakly)_ They challenged me to a sprint. It was muddy. I slipped.
RUDOLPH: _(With contempt) Goim nachez_! Nice spectacles for your poor mother!
BLOOM: Mamma!
ELLEN BLOOM: _(In pantomime dame's stringed mobcap, widow Tw.a.n.key's crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg sleeves b.u.t.toned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her plaited hair in a crispine net, appears over the staircase banisters, a slanted candlestick in her hand, and cries out in shrill alarm)_ O blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him! My smelling salts! _(She hauls up a reef of skirt and ransacks the pouch of her striped blay petticoat. A phial, an Agnus Dei, a shrivelled potato and a celluloid doll fall out)_ Sacred Heart of Mary, where were you at all at all?
_(Bloom, mumbling, his eyes downcast, begins to bestow his parcels in his filled pockets but desists, muttering.)_
A VOICE: _(Sharply)_ Poldy!
BLOOM: Who? _(He ducks and wards off a blow clumsily)_ At your service.
_(He looks up. Beside her mirage of datepalms a handsome woman in Turkish costume stands before him. Opulent curves fill out her scarlet trousers and jacket, slashed with gold. A wide yellow c.u.mmerbund girdles her. A white yashmak, violet in the night, covers her face, leaving free only her large dark eyes and raven hair.)_
BLOOM: Molly!
MARION: Welly? Mrs Marion from this out, my dear man, when you speak to me. _(Satirically)_ Has poor little hubby cold feet waiting so long?
BLOOM: _(s.h.i.+fts from foot to foot)_ No, no. Not the least little bit.
_(He breathes in deep agitation, swallowing gulps of air, questions, hopes, crubeens for her supper, things to tell her, excuse, desire, spellbound. A coin gleams on her forehead. On her feet are jewelled toerings. Her ankles are linked by a slender fetterchain. Beside her a camel, hooded with a turreting turban, waits. A silk ladder of innumerable rungs climbs to his bobbing howdah. He ambles near with disgruntled hindquarters. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her goldcurb wristbangles angriling, scolding him in Moorish.)_
MARION: Nebrakada! Femininum!
_(The camel, lifting a foreleg, plucks from a tree a large mango fruit, offers it to his mistress, blinking, in his cloven hoof, then droops his head and, grunting, with uplifted neck, fumbles to kneel. Bloom stoops his back for leapfrog.)_