Part 125 (2/2)

THE NYMPH: _(Loftily)_ We immortals, as you saw today, have not such a place and no hair there either. We are stonecold and pure. We eat electric light. _(She arches her body in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in her mouth)_ Spoke to me. Heard from behind. How then could you...?

BLOOM: _(Pawing the heather abjectly)_ O, I have been a perfect pig.

Enemas too I have administered. One third of a pint of qua.s.sia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt. Up the fundament. With Hamilton Long's syringe, the ladies' friend.

THE NYMPH: In my presence. The powderpuff. _(She blushes and makes a knee)_ And the rest!

BLOOM: _(Dejected)_ Yes. _Peccavi!_ I have paid homage on that living altar where the back changes name. _(With sudden fervour)_ For why should the dainty scented jewelled hand, the hand that rules...?

_(Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern around the treestems, cooeeing)_

THE VOICE OF KITTY: _(In the thicket)_ Show us one of them cus.h.i.+ons.

THE VOICE OF FLORRY: Here.

_(A grouse wings clumsily through the underwood.)_

THE VOICE OF LYNCH: _(In the thicket)_ Whew! Piping hot!

THE VOICE OF ZOE: _(From the thicket)_ Came from a hot place.

THE VOICE OF VIRAG: _(A birdchief, bluestreaked and feathered in war panoply with his a.s.segai, striding through a crackling canebrake over beechmast and acorns)_ Hot! Hot! Ware Sitting Bull!

BLOOM: It overpowers me. The warm impress of her warm form. Even to sit where a woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as though to grant the last favours, most especially with previously well uplifted white sateen coatpans. So womanly, full. It fills me full.

THE WATERFALL:

_Phillaphulla Poulaphouca Poulaphouca Poulaphouca._

THE YEWS: Ss.h.!.+ Sister, speak!

THE NYMPH: _(Eyeless, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple, softly, with remote eyes)_ Tranquilla convent. Sister Agatha. Mount Carmel. The apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. No more desire. _(She reclines her head, sighing)_ Only the ethereal. Where dreamy creamy gull waves o'er the waters dull.

_(Bloom half rises. His back trouserb.u.t.ton snaps.)_

THE b.u.t.tON: Bip!

_(Two s.l.u.ts of the coombe dance rainily by, shawled, yelling flatly.)_

THE s.l.u.tS:

O, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers He didn't know what to do, To keep it up, To keep it up.

BLOOM: _(Coldly)_ You have broken the spell. The last straw. If there were only ethereal where would you all be, postulants and novices? Shy but willing like an a.s.s p.i.s.sing.

THE YEWS: _(Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their skinny arms aging and swaying)_ Deciduously!

THE NYMPH: _(Her features hardening, gropes in the folds of her habit)_ Sacrilege! To attempt my virtue! _(A large moist stain appears on her robe)_ Sully my innocence! You are not fit to touch the garment of a pure woman. _(She clutches again in her robe)_ Wait. Satan, you'll sing no more lovesongs. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. _(She draws a poniard and, clad in the sheathmail of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his loins)_ Nek.u.m!

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