Part 120 (1/2)

Expect this is the. Steve, thou art in a parlous way. Must visit old Deasy or telegraph. Our interview of this morning has left on me a deep impression. Though our ages. Will write fully tomorrow. I'm partially drunk, by the way. _(He touches the keys again)_ Minor chord comes now.

Yes. Not much however.

_(Almidano Artifoni holds out a batonroll of music with vigorous moustachework.)_

ARTIFONI: _Ci rifletta. Lei rovina tutto._

FLORRY: Sing us something. Love's old sweet song.

STEPHEN: No voice. I am a most finished artist. Lynch, did I show you the letter about the lute?

FLORRY: _(Smirking)_ The bird that can sing and won't sing.

_(The Siamese twins, Philip Drunk and Philip Sober, two Oxford dons with lawnmowers, appear in the window embrasure. Both are masked with Matthew Arnold's face.)_

PHILIP SOBER: Take a fool's advice. All is not well. Work it out with the b.u.t.tend of a pencil, like a good young idiot. Three pounds twelve you got, two notes, one sovereign, two crowns, if youth but knew.

Mooney's en ville, Mooney's sur mer, the Moira, Larchet's, Holles street hospital, Burke's. Eh? I am watching you.

PHILIP DRUNK: _(Impatiently)_ Ah, bosh, man. Go to h.e.l.l! I paid my way.

If I could only find out about octaves. Reduplication of personality.

Who was it told me his name? _(His lawnmower begins to purr)_ Aha, yes.

_Zoe mou sas agapo_. Have a notion I was here before. When was it not Atkinson his card I have somewhere. Mac Somebody. Unmack I have it. He told me about, hold on, Swinburne, was it, no?

FLORRY: And the song?

STEPHEN: Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.

FLORRY: Are you out of Maynooth? You're like someone I knew once.

STEPHEN: Out of it now. _(To himself)_ Clever.

PHILIP DRUNK AND PHILIP SOBER: _(Their lawnmowers purring with a rigadoon of gra.s.shalms)_ Clever ever. Out of it out of it. By the bye have you the book, the thing, the ashplant? Yes, there it, yes.

Cleverever outofitnow. Keep in condition. Do like us.

ZOE: There was a priest down here two nights ago to do his bit of business with his coat b.u.t.toned up. You needn't try to hide, I says to him. I know you've a Roman collar.

VIRAG: Perfectly logical from his standpoint. Fall of man. _(Harshly, his pupils waxing)_ To h.e.l.l with the pope! Nothing new under the sun. I am the Virag who disclosed the s.e.x Secrets of Monks and Maidens. Why I left the church of Rome. Read the Priest, the Woman and the Confessional. Penrose. Flipperty Jippert. _(He wriggles)_ Woman, undoing with sweet pudor her belt of rushrope, offers her allmoist yoni to man's lingam. Short time after man presents woman with pieces of jungle meat.

Woman shows joy and covers herself with featherskins. Man loves her yoni fiercely with big lingam, the stiff one. _(He cries) Coactus volui._ Then giddy woman will run about. Strong man grapses woman's wrist.

Woman squeals, bites, spucks. Man, now fierce angry, strikes woman's fat yadgana. _(He chases his tail)_ Piffpaff! Popo! _(He stops, sneezes)_ Pchp! _(He worries his b.u.t.t)_ Prrrrrht!

LYNCH: I hope you gave the good father a penance. Nine glorias for shooting a bishop.

ZOE: _(Spouts walrus smoke through her nostrils)_ He couldn't get a connection. Only, you know, sensation. A dry rush.

BLOOM: Poor man!

ZOE: _(Lightly)_ Only for what happened him.

BLOOM: How?