Part 119 (1/2)
MANANAUN MACLIR: _(With a voice of waves)_ Aum! Hek! Wal! Ak! Lub! Mor!
Ma! White yoghin of the G.o.ds. Occult pimander of Hermes Trismegistos.
_(With a voice of whistling seawind)_ Punarjanam patsypunjaub! I won't have my leg pulled. It has been said by one: beware the left, the cult of Shakti. _(With a cry of stormbirds)_ Shakti s.h.i.+va, darkhidden Father!
_(He smites with his bicycle pump the crayfish in his left hand. On its cooperative dial glow the twelve signs of the zodiac. He wails with the vehemence of the ocean.)_ Aum! Baum! Pyjaum! I am the light of the homestead! I am the dreamery creamery b.u.t.ter.
_(A skeleton judashand strangles the light. The green light wanes to mauve. The gasjet wails whistling.)_
THE GASJET: Pooah! Pfuiiiiiii!
_(Zoe runs to the chandelier and, crooking her leg, adjusts the mantle.)_
ZOE: Who has a f.a.g as I'm here?
LYNCH: _(Tossing a cigarette on to the table)_ Here.
ZOE: _(Her head perched aside in mock pride)_ Is that the way to hand the _pot_ to a lady? _(She stretches up to light the cigarette over the flame, twirling it slowly, showing the brown tufts of her armpits. Lynch with his poker lifts boldly a side of her slip. Bare from her garters up her flesh appears under the sapphire a nixie's green. She puffs calmly at her cigarette.)_ Can you see the beautyspot of my behind?
LYNCH: I'm not looking
ZOE: _(Makes sheep's eyes)_ No? You wouldn't do a less thing. Would you suck a lemon?
_(Squinting in mock shame she glances with sidelong meaning at Bloom, then twists round towards him, pulling her slip free of the poker. Blue fluid again flows over her flesh. Bloom stands, smiling desirously, twirling his thumbs. Kitty Ricketts licks her middle finger with her spittle and, gazing in the mirror, smooths both eyebrows. Lipoti Virag, basilicogrammate, chutes rapidly down through the chimneyflue and struts two steps to the left on gawky pink stilts. He is sausaged into several overcoats and wears a brown macintosh under which he holds a roll of parchment. In his left eye flashes the monocle of Cashel Boyle O'connor Fitzmaurice Tisdall Farrell. On his head is perched an Egyptian pshent.
Two quills project over his ears.)_
VIRAG: _(Heels together, bows)_ My name is Virag Lipoti, of s...o...b..thely.
_(He coughs thoughtfully, drily)_ Promiscuous nakedness is much in evidence hereabouts, eh? Inadvertently her backview revealed the fact that she is not wearing those rather intimate garments of which you are a particular devotee. The injection mark on the thigh I hope you perceived? Good.
BLOOM: Granpapachi. But...
VIRAG: Number two on the other hand, she of the cherry rouge and coiffeuse white, whose hair owes not a little to our tribal elixir of gopherwood, is in walking costume and tightly staysed by her sit, I should opine. Backbone in front, so to say. Correct me but I always understood that the act so performed by skittish humans with glimpses of lingerie appealed to you in virtue of its exhibitionististicicity. In a word. Hippogriff. Am I right?
BLOOM: She is rather lean.
VIRAG: _(Not unpleasantly)_ Absolutely! Well observed and those pannier pockets of the skirt and slightly pegtop effect are devised to suggest bunchiness of hip. A new purchase at some monster sale for which a gull has been mulcted. Meretricious finery to deceive the eye. Observe the attention to details of dustspecks. Never put on you tomorrow what you can wear today. Parallax! _(With a nervous twitch of his head)_ Did you hear my brain go snap? Pollysyllabax!
BLOOM: _(An elbow resting in a hand, a forefinger against his cheek)_ She seems sad.
VIRAG: _(Cynically, his weasel teeth bared yellow, draws down his left eye with a finger and barks hoa.r.s.ely)_ Hoax! Beware of the flapper and bogus mournful. Lily of the alley. All possess bachelor's b.u.t.ton discovered by Rualdus Columbus. Tumble her. Columble her. Chameleon.
_(More genially)_ Well then, permit me to draw your attention to item number three. There is plenty of her visible to the naked eye. Observe the ma.s.s of oxygenated vegetable matter on her skull. What ho, she b.u.mps! The ugly duckling of the party, longcasted and deep in keel.
BLOOM: _(Regretfully)_ When you come out without your gun.
VIRAG: We can do you all brands, mild, medium and strong. Pay your money, take your choice. How happy could you be with either...
BLOOM: With...?
VIRAG: _(His tongue upcurling)_ Lyum! Look. Her beam is broad. She is coated with quite a considerable layer of fat. Obviously mammal in weight of bosom you remark that she has in front well to the fore two protuberances of very respectable dimensions, inclined to fall in the noonday soupplate, while on her rere lower down are two additional protuberances, suggestive of potent r.e.c.t.u.m and tumescent for palpation, which leave nothing to be desired save compactness. Such fleshy parts are the product of careful nurture. When coopfattened their livers reach an elephantine size. Pellets of new bread with fennygreek and gumbenjamin swamped down by potions of green tea endow them during their brief existence with natural pincus.h.i.+ons of quite colossal blubber. That suits your book, eh? Fleshhotpots of Egypt to hanker after. Wallow in it. Lycopodium. _(His throat twitches)_ Slapbang! There he goes again.
BLOOM: The stye I dislike.
VIRAG: _(Arches his eyebrows)_ Contact with a goldring, they say.