Buck Mulligan, plump and graceful, emerged from the landing.In his hand he held a bowl of soap suds with a mirror and a razor crossed on it.He didn't wear a belt, and his light yellow bathrobe was blown back slightly by the morning breeze[2].He held up the bowl aloft and recited: I will go to the altar of the Lord. He stopped, glanced down the dark spiral staircase, and shouted gruffly: "Come up, Kinch[3]. Come up, you God-fearing Jesuit[4]." He stepped forward solemnly and mounted the round emplacement.He looked round and solemnly blessed the tower[5] and the surrounding fields and the waking mountains three times.Then, as soon as he caught sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent over him, crossed himself several times rapidly in the air, and shook his head with a guttural gurgle.Stephen Dedalus, irritated and drowsy, leaning his arms on the banister, stared icily at the horse's face, which shook its head and clucked its blessing in blessing, and its unshaven top. ], shade and grain like the blond hair of light oak.

Buck Mulligan glanced down the mirror and closed his bowl hastily. "Go back to the barracks," he snapped. Then he said in the tone of a preacher: "Ah, dear people, this is the real Christine: body and soul, blood and scars. Please slow down the music. Close your eyes, gentlemen. Wait a minute. These white blood cells are a little restless .Please be quiet.” Leaning upward, he gave a long low whistle of calling, then stopped and listened intently.His perfectly white teeth shone with gold in places.Chrysostom [8].Two sharp and powerful whistles broke the silence and answered him.

"Thanks, old chap," he said briskly. "That's fine. Could you turn off the switch, please?" He jumped down from the gun mount, looked solemnly at the observer, and gathered the loose hem of his bathrobe over his calf.His fat, sullen face and sullen oval jaw evoke images of medieval monks who served as protectors of the arts.A happy smile slowly appeared on his lips. "How ridiculous," he said cheerfully. "Your name is ridiculous, an ancient Greek." With a friendly and joking gesture, and smiling to himself, he went up to the parapet.Stephen Dedalus climbed to the top of the tower, followed him listlessly halfway, and sat down on the edge of the gun mount, watching silently as he leaned the mirror against the parapet, and dipped the brush in the bowl. , lather up your cheeks and neck.

Buck Mulligan went on in a cheerful voice. "My name is absurd, too, Malachi Mulligan, with two iambics. But it's a little Greek, isn't it? Light and happy as a stag. We've got to go to Athens. If I could get twenty pounds out of my aunt, would you go with me?" He put the brush aside, laughed happily and said aloud: "Is he going, that dull Jesuit?" He shut his mouth and shaved carefully. "Tell me, Mulligan," said Stephen softly. "Huh? Be good." "How long is Haines going to live in this tower?" Buck Mulligan slid the half of his shaven face over his right shoulder.

"My God, what a resentment that kid is!" he said frankly. "Such a stupid Saxon, he doesn't think of you as a man. Good God, those bastard Englishmen. Rich and fat. Because he's from Oxford. Here, Dedalus, You're really Oxford-like. He can't figure you out. Oh, and I've got a perfect name for you: Knife Knife." He carefully scraped his chin. "He's been talking all night about some black panther," said Stephen. "Where's his shotgun holster?" "A pathetic madman!" said Mulligan. "Are you scared?" "Yeah," said Stephen eagerly, with increasing horror, "black rumbling out in the suburbs with a stranger who was talking nonsense and whimpering about shooting a black panther. You saved A drowning man. But I'm no hero. If he stays here, I'll go."

Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razor, jumped from his seat, and fumbled frantically in his trouser pockets. "Oops," he yelled in a low voice. He came up to the gun mount, put his hand in Stephen's breast pocket, and said: "Lend us your snot cloth. Wipe your razor." Stephen let him pull out the crumpled, dirty handkerchief, and shaking it off by a corner.Buck Mulligan finished his razor neatly, looked at the handkerchief and said: "'Great Poets' snot cloth. A new artistic color of our Irish poets, snot green. You can almost taste it, can't you?"

He stepped onto the parapet again and looked out over Dublin Bay.His light oak-colored blond hair flowed slightly. "Here!" he said quietly. "Isn't this the sea that Alger spoke of: a great and lovely mother[12]? A snot-green sea. A sea that constricts one's testicles. To a grape-purple sea[13]. Hey, Deedale Oh, those Greeks. I must teach you. You must read it in the original language. Hai! Hai! She is our great and lovely mother. Come and see." Stephen got up and went to the parapet.He leaned against the parapet, looking down at the water and the cruise ships coming out of Kingstown[15] port.

"Our mighty mother [16]," Buck Mulligan said. His piercing gray eyes flicked from the ocean to Stephen's face. "Auntie thinks your mother died at your hands," he said. "So she doesn't care that I have any contact with you." "Someone did her," said Stephen darkly. "Damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother begged you to kneel down, you should have done it," Buck Mulligan said. "I'm as cold-hearted as you are. But think about it, your dying mother begged you to kneel down and pray for her. And you refused. There's something evil about you..."

He stopped suddenly, and lightly lathered the other cheek.A wide-eyed smile made him curl his lips. "A lovely mime, however," he said to himself. "Kinch, the loveliest of all mimes." He carefully shaved his face evenly, silently and intently. With one elbow resting on the jagged granite and his forehead resting on his palm, Stephen gazed at the frayed cuff of the sleeve of his shiny black coat.Pain -- not yet the pain of love -- tormented his heart.After she died, she came to him quietly in a dream. Her withered body was wrapped in a loose brown quilt, which smelled of wax and rosewood; When he bent down, he could vaguely smell a faint smell of wet ash.Through the ragged cuffs he catches a glimpse of the ocean called the Great Lovely Mother by the voice of the well-fed man beside him.The bay and the sky form a ring, containing a large amount of dark green liquid.When my mother was dying, there was a white porcelain bowl next to her bed, filled with sticky green bile, which was spit out by tearing her rotten liver while she was moaning loudly.

Buck Mulligan wiped his razor blade again. "Ah, poor puppy!" he said softly. "I've got to get you a shirt and some snot cloths. How about those second-hand trousers?" "It's a good fit," Stephen replied. Buck Mulligan began scraping the hollow under his lower lip. "Not a serious thing," he said smugly. "Should be called a bum. God knows what some syphilitic boozer left behind. I have a nice pair of pinstripe trousers, gray ones. You put them on." Must be handsome. Kinch, I'm not kidding. You look fucking handsome when you're dressed up."

"Thanks," said Stephen, "I can't wear gray." "He can't," Buck Mulligan said to his own face in the mirror. "Property is etiquette. He killed his own mother, but he can't wear gray trousers." He folded the razor neatly and stroked the smooth skin with the tentacles of his fingers. Stephen moved his eyes from the sea to the fat face with the flexible smoke-blue eyes. "The guy I was with on 'The Ship' last night," said Buck Mulligan, "said you had dementia. Town work [19]. Dementia general paralysis." He made a half-circle in the air with his mirror to spread the news into the sunlight that was shining brilliantly on the sea.He smiled with his clean-shaven lips curled up, revealing the white tips of his teeth.Laughter seized his whole strong and strong body. "Look at yourself," he said, "you ugly 'big poet.'" Stephen stooped to look in the mirror held up before him.There was a curved crack in the mirror, and the face reflected in the mirror was split in half, and the hair stood on end.This is how he and others see me.Who chose such a face for me?It's just a puppy that gets rid of the parasites.It's asking me that too. "I copied it from the old lady's house," Buck Mulligan said. "As it should be with her. My aunt always sends a poor servant to Malachi. Don't let him be tempted. And her name is Ursula." He laughed again, and moved the mirror, which Stephen was looking straight at, away. "Caliban's anger when he couldn't see his face in the mirror,"[22] he said. "If Wilde was still alive, it would be wonderful to see your face like this." Stephen took a few steps back, pointed to the mirror and said sadly: "This is the emblem of Irish art. A servant's cracked mirror[23]." Buck Mulligan suddenly took Stephen's arm and walked with him around the top of the tower.The razor in his pocket and the mirror clinked against each other. "It's not fair to tease you like this, Kinch, is it?" he said affectionately. "God knows, you have more backbone than any of them." Changed the topic again.He is as afraid of my artistic knife as I am of his ruthless pen. "A servant's cracked looking-glass. Tell that to that Oxford guy downstairs[24] and squeeze him a guinea[25]. He reeks of brass and doesn't see you as a gentleman .Hey, he either sold a laxative made from the root of the trumpet[26] to the Zulus[27], or he made his fortune by doing some goddamn scam. Hey, Kinch, if we work together, Maybe it can do something for the island. Hellenize it." Cranly's arm[29].his arm. "To think you'd have to tell those pigs! I'm the only one who appreciates you. Why don't you trust me more? Why do you give me the nose? Is it Haynes? If he's in If there's any fuss here, I'll bring Seymour, and we'll deal with him as hard as they did with Clive Kemptorpe." From Clive Kemptorpe's room came the shouts of the rich and the young.With pale faces, they hugged each other and laughed loudly.Oops.I'm dying! Gonna break it to her softly, Aubrey[31]! I'm dying! He's limping around the table with his shirt in strips like ribbons Flapping through the air, trousers falling to his heels,[32] chased by Eds from Mcdalen College with tailor's shears in his hand.The face covered with marmalade was as frightened as a calf.Don't take off my pants! Don't play me like a fool! A tumult from the open window disturbed the twilight of the quad.A deaf gardener in an apron with a face like Matthew Arnold pushes the lawnmower along the dim lawn, watching carefully the flying grass-stalk clippings. Ourselves ... Neo-Paganism ... Center [34]. "Let him stay," said Stephen. "He just had a bad night." "Well, what's the matter?" Buck Mulligan asked impatiently. "Just say it. I've been straight with you. What have you got to do with me now?" They paused to look out at the obtuse headland of Cape Bligh, which floated like the snout of a sleeping whale.Stephen withdrew his arm gently. "Do you want me to tell you?" he asked. "Well, what's the matter?" Buck Mulligan replied. "I don't remember anything." He looked into Stephen's face as he spoke.A breeze brushed against his brow, brushing his uncombed fair hair and making restless silver lights flicker in his eyes. Stephen was frustrated by his own voice as he spoke: "Do you remember the day I first visited your house after my mother died?" Buck Mulligan immediately frowned and said: "What? Where? I can't remember anything. I only remember ideas and feelings[36]. Why are you asking this? My God, what the hell happened?" "You were making tea," said Stephen, "and I went across the landing to get some water. Your mother came out of the drawing room with a visitor. She asked you who was in your room." "Huh?" Buck Mulligan said. "What did I say to see? I forgot." "That's what you said," replied Stephen, "oh, it's only Dedalus, whose mother died like a brute." A sudden flush in Buck Mulligan's cheeks made him look younger and more attractive. "Did I say so?" he asked. "Ah? Then what's in the way?" He shook his body nervously, getting rid of his embarrassment. "And what is death?" he asked, "your mother, you, and myself. You only saw your mother die. I was at Our Lady and Richmond, and every day I saw them suddenly Dying, disembowelled in the dissecting room. It's the kind of thing that happens to animals, that's all. Your mother asked you to kneel and pray for her when she was dying. Why? Because you Damn Jesuit airs, only you screw it up. To me it's a complete sarcasm, brutes do. Her lobe's gone. She calls the doctor Peter. Sir Tiazze, and pulled the buttercups off the quilt. Coaxed her till she died. You refused to grant her last wish, and you pissed me off because I wouldn't Howl like a paid mourner at La Rouette. Absurd! I must have said so. But I have no intention of injuring your mother's reputation after her death." The more he spoke, the more confident he became.Stephen concealed the trauma left by these words on his heart, and said extremely indifferently: "I'm not thinking of the damage you've done to my mother." "So what's on your mind?" Buck Mulligan asked. "To my disservice," Stephen replied. Buck Mulligan spun around on his heels. "Oh, you're a tough guy!" he yelled. He walked away quickly along the parapet.Stephen still stood where he was, looking across the calm sea towards the headland.Now the sea and the headland blurred into one.The pulse in his eyes was beating, his vision was blurred, and he felt his cheeks warm. From the tower came a loud cry: "Mulligan, are you up there?" "I'll be right there," Buck Mulligan replied. He turned to Stephen, and said: "Look at this sea. What does it care about damage? Cut off Loyola, Kinch, come down. The Saxon conqueror wants sliced ​​ham for breakfast." His head paused again at the top step, so that it was just level with the top of the tower. "Stop moping about this stuff all the time. I'm just a one-and-done person. Stop brooding so much." His head disappeared, but there was a low voice from the stairs as he went down: Don't turn your face away to worry, Drenched in the bitter mystery of love, Because the brass car was driven by Fergus[41]. The shadows of the woods passed through the silence of the morning, and drifted silently from the landing to the sea he was looking at.On the shore and on the surface of the sea, the mirror-like sea water was turning white, as if it had been kicked up by the feet sprinting on the light shoes.The white breast of the misty ocean.Stressed syllables blend together in pairs.One hand was strumming the harp, and the strings interlaced and produced harmonics.Pairs of wave-white lyrics flicker on the dark tide. A cloud was beginning to cover the whole sun gradually, and the bay grew darker and greener in the shadows.The bowl of bitter water lay at his feet.The song of Fergus, I sang at home alone, suppressing the long, sombre chords.Her door is open, she longs to hear my song.With fear and pity, I quietly approached her bedside.She was crying on that rough bed.For this one, Stephen, the bitter mystery of love. Where are you now? Her secret stash: her locked drawer contains several well-worn feather fans, musk-scented tasseled prom invitations, and a string of cheap amber beads.When she was a girl, there was a birdcage hanging on the sunny window of her house.She had heard old Royce sing in "The Terrible Turk," and she laughed with the others when he sang: i am that boy be able to appreciate at will The pleasure of stealth. Phantom joys are stockpiled, musk-scented. Don't turn your face away to worry... Stored in nature's memory[43] along with her trinkets.The past was like smoke, attacking his depressed heart.Her glass of cold water from the kitchen pipe when she was about to receive Holy Communion.On a dark autumn evening, a cored, brown sugar-stuffed apple was baking for her on the hob.Her beautiful fingernails were stained red with blood from picking lice off the children's shirts. In a dream, she quietly came to him.Her withered body was wrapped in a loose quilt, which smelled of wax and rosewood.She leaned over to him, speaking silently to him, her breath smelling faintly of wet ashes. To shock and subdue my soul, her dull eyes stared straight at me from death.Just stare at me.The warding candle illuminated her dying agony.A ghostly light casts across her tormented face.Her hoarse, loud breath made a horrible purr as everyone knelt down to pray.She stared at me, trying to force me to kneel.The flock of priests adorned with lilies of light comes to accompany you, and the flock of blissful virgins sings their praises to welcome you.[45] Ghoul [46]! Flesh Eater! No, mother! Let me live. Let me live. "Hey, Kin Chi!" From the round tower came Buck Mulligan's voice.It came up the stairs, approached, and called again.Stephen, still trembling with the call of his soul, heard the warm sunshine pouring down and the friendly words in the air behind him. "Come on, Dedalus, and move your nest quickly, darling. Get it done soon. Haines apologizes for waking us up in the night. It's all right." "I'll be right there," Stephen said, turning. "For Jesus' sake, come on," Buck Mulligan said. "For me, and for all of us." His head disappeared, then reappeared. "I spoke to him about your symbol of Irish art. Very clever, he said. Ask him for a pound? I mean, a guinea." "I'm getting paid this morning," said Stephen. "The school share?" Buck Mulligan said. "How much? Four pounds? Lend us a pound." "If you want," said Stephen. "Four shining gold pounds," Buck Mulligan exclaimed cheerfully. "We'll have a booze and startle the real druids. Four almighty gold pounds." He raised his arms, walked down the stone stairs with a thud, and shouted out of tune with an East London accent: Ah, shall we have some fun? Drink whiskey, beer, and wine, for the coronation, coronation day. Ah, shall we have some fun? For Coronation Day[48]. The warm sun was playing on the sea.The nickel soap bowl gleamed on the parapet, forgotten.Why should I have to take it with me? Or just leave it there all day, forgotten friendship? He walked over and held it in his hand for a while, feeling the coolness and smelling the slimy smell of soap suds from the brush poking inside.I mentioned the censer[50] at Klongows[49].Now I'm a different person, but it's the same person again.Still a slave.A servant's servant[51]. In the dark, vaulted living room of the tower, the figure of Buck Mulligan in his bathrobe was gilding nimbly around the hearth, the pale yellow flame flickering and disappearing.Through the high battlement, two beams of soft sunlight fell on the flagstone floor.Where the light meets, a cloud of soot and the smell of frying fat floats and swirls. "We're all smothered," Buck Mulligan said. "Haynes, open that door, will you?" Stephen set the shaving bowl on the cupboard.The tall man in the hammock stood up, walked to the doorway, and opened the two inner doors. "Do you have the key?" a voice asked. "In Dedalus's hands," Buck Mulligan said. "Grandpa, I'm choking to death." With his eyes fixed on the fire, he growled: "Gold Chi!" "It's in the keyhole," said Stephen, coming up. Two harsh turns of the key, and when the heavy door was ajar, pleasant sunlight and fresh air came in.Haynes stood at the door and looked out.Stephen dragged his upside-down traveling suitcase to the table and sat down to wait.Buck Mulligan flicked the omelet onto the plate beside him, then took the plate and a large teapot over and set them down on the table with a sigh of relief. "I'm melting," he said, "like a candle said when.... But keep quiet. Don't mention it again. Kinch, cheer up. Bread, butter, honey .Haynes, come in. Dinner is ready. 'God bless us, and all will be received from the Lord, the blessing of the Lord.'[52] Where's the sugar? Oh, my God, no milk." Stephen took bread, a jar of honey, and butter in a meltproof container from the cupboard.Buck Mulligan suddenly became annoyed and sat down. "What kind of business is that?" he said. "I told her to come after eight o'clock." "We can drink it without milk," said Stephen. "There's a lemon in the cupboard." "Bah, to hell with you and your Paris fashion," said Buck Mulligan. "I want Savan milk." Haynes came in through the doorway, and said serenely: "The woman is coming up with milk." "Thank God," cried Buck Mulligan, jumping up from his chair, "sit down. Tea's here, pour it. Sugar's in pocket. No, I can't handle the damn eggs." He randomly divided the fried eggs on the plate, then threw them on three plates, and chanted: In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit[53]. Haines sat down and poured tea. "I'll give you two sugar cubes each," he said. "But, Mulligan, you make really strong tea, eh?" Buck Mulligan cut a good slice of bread thickly, and said in the voice of an old woman coaxing a baby: "Old Granny Grogan [54] said it well, when I make tea I make tea, and when I piss I piss." "My God, that's tea," Haines said. Buck Mulligan said in a coaxing voice as he brewed it: "That's what I do, Mrs. Cahill, she said. Why, old lady, said Mrs. Cahill, God help you don't make both in one pot." He poked thick slices of bread with the tip of his knife and handed them to the fellow diners. "Haines," he said gravely, "you could put these fellows in your book. Five lines of text and ten pages of notes on the fellows of Dendrum[55] and the Mermaid God[56]. Printed by the Sisters of Fate[57] in the Windy Year." He turned to Stephen, raised his eyebrows, and asked softly in a bewildered tone: "Can you recall, brother, whether this story about Granny Grogan's tea-and-piss pot is in the Mabinogion or in the Upanishads?" "Not here, I'm afraid," said Stephen gravely. "Do you think so now?" Buck Mulligan said in the same tone. "Excuse me, what's the reason?" "I suppose," said Stephen, as he ate, "that there is no such story in or out of the Mabinogion. It is conceivable that Granny Grogan was related by blood to Mary Ann." Buck Mulligan smiled with pleasure. "Funny!" he whispered, showing his white teeth and blinking happily. "Do you think she's like that? That's funny." Then he suddenly looked sad, and while cutting the bread vigorously again, he roared in a hoarse and harsh voice: For old Mary Ann, She doesn't care at all. But lift up her petticoat... He stuffed a mouthful of fried eggs and sang in a monotonous low voice while chewing. A figure flashed in, obscuring the doorway. "Milk, sir." "Come in, ma'am," Mulligan said, "Kinch, get the jar." The old woman came over and stopped beside Stephen. "What a morning, sir," she said. "Glory to God." "To whom?" said Mulligan, looking at her. "Oh, of course!" Stephen reached back and took the milk jug out of the cupboard. "The people of this island," said Mulligan casually to Haines, "talk about foreskin collectors a lot." "How much, sir?" asked the old woman. "A quart [62]," said Stephen. He watched her pour first the thick white milk that wasn't hers into the measurer and then into the jug.Aging shriveled breasts.She added another measure of milk, and a little bit more.She is old and mysterious, wandering in from the morning world, perhaps a messenger.As she poured it out, she boasted that the milk was good.At dawn, in the green pastures, she squats beside the patient cow, a witch on the toadstool, nimbly squeezing the milk-spitting teat with her wrinkled fingers.The cows, wet with dew and with silky fur, knew her well, and they mooed around her.The most beautiful cow, the poor old woman[63], that is what she was called in the old days.A vagabond, wrinkled old crone, in the guise of this lowly figure, the goddess waits on her conqueror and her merry traitor.[64]She is the mother Wang Ba [65] who is played by both of them.Messenger from the mysterious morning.He didn't know whether she came to serve or to condemn.[66]However, he didn't bother to please her. "Very well indeed, ma'am," Buck Mulligan said, pouring milk into everyone's glasses. "Try it, sir," she said. He drank as she said. "If we could live on good food like this," he said to her, raising his voice a little, "we wouldn't be full of rotten teeth and guts all over the country. We live in wet swamps and eat cheap food , the streets are full of dust, horse manure, and the phlegm of consumptives." "Sir, are you a medical student?" asked the old woman. "I am, ma'am," replied Buck Mulligan.[67] Stephen listened in silence, with contempt.She bowed her head to the old man who spoke loudly to her, who was her bonesetter and medicine man; but she never saw me.Bow also to the voice that hears her confession, pardons her sins, and anoints her whole body except the unclean loins of the woman,[68] who is taken from the body of the man [ 69], but was not made in the image of God[70], she became the victim of the serpent[71].She also bowed to the loud voice that now silenced her with a look of wonder and bewilderment in her eyes. "Can you understand what he's saying?" Stephen asked her. "Sir, do you speak French?" the old woman said to Haines. Haines spoke to her again for a longer period, with complete assurance. "Irish," Buck Mulligan said. "Do you have Gaelic temperament?" "I reckon it must be Irish," she said, "that accent. Are you from the West, sir?" "I'm an Englishman," Haines replied. "He's an Englishman," said Buck Mulligan, "and he thinks we ought to speak Irish in Ireland." "Of course," Lao Shu said, "I don't know how to speak it myself. I'm so ashamed. People who know this language tell me that it's an amazing language." "More than that," Buck Mulligan said. "And it's amazing. Pour us some more tea, Jinchi. Old lady, would you like a cup too?" "No, thank you, sir," said the crone, slipping the milk jug loop around her wrist, and was going to go. Haines said to her: "Did you bring the bill? Mulligan, we'd better give it to her. What do you think?" Stephen filled three more glasses. "A bill, sir?" she said, stopping. "Well, a pint[74] is twopence seven mornings twenty-seven is a shilling[75] twopence and three mornings fourpence a quart three quarts is a shilling a A shilling plus one shilling two is two shillings two, sir." Buck Mulligan sighed and stuffed a piece of bread, thickly buttered on both sides, into his mouth, stretched his legs forward, and began to dig into his trouser pockets. "Close bills, feel good," Haines said to him with a smile. Stephen poured a third glass.A heaping spoonful of tea adds a little color to the thick milk.Buck Mulligan took out a florin, twirled it in his fingers, and exclaimed: "A miracle!" He put it on the table, pushed it towards the old woman, and said: Don't ask any more, my dear, What I can give, I give it all to you. [77] Stephen put the silver coin into the less eager hand of his old in-laws. "We still owe you twopence," he said. "No hurry, sir," she said as she took the coins. "No hurry. Good morning, sir." She curtseyed and walked out.Buck Mulligan's soft voice followed: Sweetheart, if there are many, All at your feet. He turned to Stephen and said: "Honestly, Dedalus, I'm penniless. Go to your school and get us some money. The 'big poets' will be feasting and drinking today. Ireland expects everyone to do their part today Responsibilities[78].” "That reminds me," Haines said, standing up. "Today I have to go to your National Library." "Let's go swimming first," Buck Mulligan said. He turned to Stephen, and asked kindly: "Is this the day you bathe once a month, Kinch?" Then he said to Haines: "The dirty 'big poet' made up his mind to take a bath once a month." "All Ireland is being washed by the Gulfstream," Stephen said, letting the honey drip over a slice of bread. Haynes, in the corner, tying a scarf loosely over the loose collar of his tennis shirt, said: "If you'll allow me, I'd like to collect your statements." He's talking about me.They soaked and scrubbed in the tub.inner censure.conscience.But there is still a little smudge[80]. "That remark about a servant's cracked mirror being a symbol of Irish art is wonderful." Buck Mulligan kicked Stephen under the table and said eagerly: "Haynes, you wait to hear what he says about Hamlet." "Here, I have this plan," Haines continued to Stephen. "While I was thinking about it, the poor old fellow came in." "Can I make some money out of it?" Stephen asked. Haines smiled.He took his gray felt hat from the hook of the hammock and said: "It's hard to say." He strolled out toward the doorway.Buck Mulligan bent over Stephen and said gruffly: "You are so stupid to say that, why do you say that?" "Huh?" said Stephen. "The question is to get the money. From whom? From the old milkman or from him. I'll see them both, and it's whoever it is." "I blew you up on him," said Buck Mulligan, "and you squinted uncomfortably, delivering your sullen Jesuit jibes." "I don't see any hope," said Stephen, "whether the old woman or the fellow." Buck Mulligan sighed miserably, and put his hand on Stephen's arm. "I don't care, Kinch," he said. He changed his tone abruptly and added: "Indeed, I think you're right. They don't say anything else. Why don't you tease them like I do? To hell with them all. Let's get out of this den." He stood up, took off his belt solemnly, took off his bathrobe, and said: “穆利根被强剩下衣服[81]。” 他把兜儿都掏空了，东西放在桌上。 “你的鼻涕布就在这儿，”他说。 他一边安上硬领，系好那不听话的领带，一边对它们以及那东摇西晃的表链说着话，责骂它们。他把双手伸到箱子里去乱翻一气，并且嚷着要一块干净手绢。内心的苛责。天哪，咱们就得打扮得有点特色。我要戴深褐色的手套，穿绿色长统靴。矛盾。我自相矛盾吗？很好，那么我就是要自相矛盾[82]。能言善辩的[83]玛拉基。正说着的当儿，一个黑色软东西从他手里嗖地飞了出来。 “这是你的拉丁区[84]帽子，”他说。 斯蒂芬把它拾起来戴上了。海恩斯从门道那儿喊他们： “你们来吗，伙计们？” “我准备好了，”勃克·穆利根边回答边朝门口走去。“出来吧，金赤，你大概把我们剩的都吃光了吧。” 他认头了，一面迈着庄重的脚步踱了出去，一面几乎是怀着悲痛，严肃地说： “于是他走出去，遇见了巴特里[85]。” 斯蒂芬把木手杖从它搭着的地方取了来，跟在他们后面走出去。当他们走下梯子时，他就拉上笨重的铁门，上了锁。他将很大的钥匙放在内兜里。 在梯子脚下，勃克·穆利根问道： “你带上钥匙了吗？” “我带着哪，”斯蒂芬边说边在他们头里走着。 He kept walking.他听见勃克·穆利根在背后用沉甸甸的浴巾抽打那长得最高的羊齿或草叶。 “趴下，老兄。放老实点儿，老兄。” 海恩斯问道， “这座塔，你们交房租吗？” “十二镑，”勃克，穆利根说。 “交给陆军大臣，”斯蒂芬回过头来补充一句。 他们停下步来，海恩斯朝那座塔望了望，最后说： “啊，冬季可阴冷得够呛。你们管它叫作圆形炮塔吧?” “这些是比利·皮特[86]叫人盖的，”勃克·穆利根说，“当时法国人在海上[87]。然而我们那座是中心。” “你对哈姆莱特有何高见？”海恩斯向斯蒂芬问道。 “不，不，”勃克·穆利根烦闷地嚷了起来，“托巴斯·阿奎那[88]也罢，他用来支撑自己那一套的五十五个论点也罢，我都甘拜下风。等我先喝上几杯再说。” 他一边把淡黄色背心的两端拽拽整齐，一边转向斯蒂芬，说： “金赤，起码得喝上三杯，不然你就应付不了，对吧？” “既然都等这么久了，”斯蒂芬无精打采地说，“不妨再等一阵子。” “你挑起了我的好奇心，”海恩斯和蔼可亲地说，“是什么似非而是的怪论吗？” “瞎扯!”勃克·穆利根说。“我们早就摆脱了王尔德和他那些似非而是的怪论了。这十分简单。他用代数运算出，哈姆莱特的孙子是莎士比亚的祖父，而他本人是他亲爹的亡灵。” “什么？”海恩斯说着，把指头伸向斯蒂芬。“他本人？” 勃克·穆利根将他的浴巾像祭带[89]般绕在脖子上，纵声笑得前仰后合，跟斯蒂芬咬起耳朵说：“噢，老金赤[90]的阴魂！雅弗在寻找一位父亲哪！[91]” “每天早晨我们总是疲倦的，”斯蒂芬对海恩斯说，“更何况说也说不完呢。” 勃克·穆利根又朝前走了，并举起双手。 “只有神圣的杯中物才能使迪达勒斯打开话匣子，”他说。 “我想要说的是，”当他们跟在后面走的时候，海恩斯向斯蒂芬解释道，“此地的这座塔和这些悬崖不知怎地令我想到艾尔西诺。濒临大海的峻峭的悬崖之巅[92]——对吧？” 勃克·穆利根抽冷子回头瞅了斯蒂芬一眼，然而并没吱声。光天化日之下，在这沉默的一刹那间，斯蒂芬看到自己身穿廉价丧服，满是尘埃，夹在服装华丽的二人之间的这个形象。 “那是个精采的故事，”海恩斯这么一说，又使他们停下脚步。 他的眼睛淡蓝得像是被风净化了的海水，比海水还要淡蓝，坚毅而谨慎。他这个大海的统治者[93]，隔着海湾朝南方凝望，一片空旷，闪闪发光的天边，一艘邮船依稀冒着羽毛形的烟，还有一叶孤帆正在穆格林沙洲那儿抢风掉向航行。 “我在什么地方读过从神学上对这方面的诠释，”他若有所思地说，“圣父与圣子的概念。圣子竭力与圣父合为一体。” 勃克·穆利根的脸上立刻绽满欢快的笑容。他望着他们，高兴地张开那生得很俊的嘴唇，两眼那股精明洞察的神色顿然收敛，带着狂热欢快地眨巴着。他来回晃动着一个玩偶脑袋，巴拿马帽檐颤动着，用安详、欣悦而憨朴的嗓门吟咏起来： 我这小伙子，无比地古怪， 妈是犹太人，爹是只鸟儿[94]。 跟木匠约瑟，我可合不来， 为门徒[95]和各各他[96]干一杯。 他伸出食指表示警告： 倘有人认为，我不是神明， 我造出的酒，他休想白饮。 只好去喝水，但愿是淡的， 可别等那酒重新变成水[97]。 为了表示告别，他敏捷地拽了一下斯蒂芬的木手杖，跑到悬崖边沿，双手在两侧拍动着，像鱼鳍，又像是即将腾空飞去者的两翼，并吟咏道： 再会吧，再会，写下我说的一切， 告诉托姆、狄克和哈利，我已从死里复活[98]。 与生俱来的本事，准能使我腾飞， 橄榄山[99]和风吹——再会吧，再会！ 他朝着前方的四十步潭[100]一溜烟儿地蹿下去，呼扇着翅膀般的双手，敏捷地跳跳蹦蹦。墨丘利[101]的帽子迎着清风摆动着，把他那鸟语般婉转而短促的叫声，吹回到他们的耳际。 海恩斯一直谨慎地笑着，他和斯蒂芬并肩而行，说： “我认为咱们不该笑。他真够亵渎神明的。我本人并不是个信徒，可以这么说。然而他那欢快的腔调多少消除了话里的恶意，你看呢？他管这叫什么来看？《木匠约瑟》?” “那是《滑稽的耶稣》[102]小调，”斯蒂芬回答说。 “哦，”海恩斯说，“你以前听过吗？” “每天三遍，饭后，”斯蒂芬干巴巴地说。 “你不是信徒吧？”海恩斯问，“我指的是狭义上的信徒，相信从虚无中创造万物啦，神迹和人格神[103]啦。” “依我看，信仰一词只有一种解释，”斯蒂芬说。 海恩斯停下脚步，掏出一只光滑的银质烟盒，上面闪烁着一颗绿宝石。他用拇指把它按开，递了过去。 “谢谢，”斯蒂芬说着，拿了一支香烟。 海恩斯自己也取了一文，啪的一声又把盒子关上，放回侧兜里，并从背心兜里掏出一只镍制打火匣，也把它按开，自己先点着了烟，随即双手像两扇贝壳似的拢着燃起的火绒，伸向斯蒂芬。 “是啊，当然喽，”他们重新向前走着，他说。“要么信，要么不信，你说对不？就我个人来说，我就容忍不了人格神这种概念。你也不赞成，对吧?” “你在我身上看到的，”斯蒂芬闷闷不乐地说，“是一个可怕的自由思想的典型。” 他继续走着，等待对方开口，身边拖着那棍棒木手杖。手杖上的金属包头沿着小径轻快地跟随着他，在他的脚后跟吱吱作响。我的好搭档跟着我，叫着斯蒂依依依依依芬。一条波状道道，沿着小径。今晚他们摸着黑儿来到这里，就会踏看它了。他想要这把钥匙。那是我的。房租是我交的。而今我吃着他那苦涩的面包[104]。把钥匙也给他拉倒。一古脑儿。他会向我讨的。从他的眼神里也看得出来。 “总之，”海恩斯开口说…… 斯蒂芬回过头去，只见那冷冷地打量着他的眼色并非完全缺乏善意。 “总之，我认为你是能够在思想上挣脱羁绊的。依我看，你是你自己的主人。” “我是两个主人的奴仆，”斯蒂芬说，“一个英国人，一个意大利人。” “意大利人?”海恩斯说。 一个疯狂的女王[l05]，年迈而且爱妒忌：给朕下跪。 “还有第三个[106]，”斯蒂芬说，“他要我给他打杂。” “意大利人?”海恩斯又说，“你是什么意思?” “大英帝国，”斯蒂芬回答说，他的脸涨红了，“还有神圣罗马使徒公教会[107]。” 海恩斯把沾在下唇上的一些烟叶屑抹掉后才说话。 “我很能理解这一点，”他心平气和地说。“我认为一个爱尔兰人一定会这么想的。我们英国人觉得我们对待你们不怎么公平。看来这要怪历史[108]。” 堂堂皇皇而威风凛凛的称号勾起了斯蒂芬对其铜钟那胜利的铿锵声的记忆，信奉独一至圣使徒公教会，礼拜仪式与教义像他本人那稀有着的思想一般缓慢地发展并起着变化，命星的神秘变化。《马尔塞鲁斯教皇[109]弥撒曲》[110]中的使徒象征[111]，大家的歌声汇在一起，嘹亮地唱着坚信之歌；在他们的颂歌后面，富于战斗性的教会那位时刻警惕着的使者[112]缴了异教祖师的械，并加以威胁。异教徒们成群结队地逃窜，主教冠歪歪斜斜；他们是佛提乌[112]以及包括穆利根在内的一群嘲弄者；还有为了证实圣子与圣父并非一体而毕生展开漫长斗争的阿里乌[114]，以及否认基督具有凡人肉身的瓦伦廷[115];再有就是深奥莫测的非洲异教始祖撒伯里乌[116]，他主张圣父本人就是他自己的圣子。刚才穆利根就曾用此活来嘲弄这位陌生人[117]。无谓的嘲弄。一切织风者最终必落得一场空[118]。他们受到威胁，被缴械，被击败；在冲突中，来自教会的那些摆好阵势的使者们，米迦勒的万军，用长矛和盾牌永远保卫教会。 听哪，听哪。经久不息的喝采。Damn it!以天主的名义![119] “当然喽，我是个英国人，”海恩斯的嗓音说，“因此我在感觉上是个英国人。我也不愿意看到自已的国家落入德国犹太人的手里[120]。我认为当前，这恐怕是我们民族的问题。” 有两个人站在悬崖边上眺望着，一个是商人，另一个是船老大。 “她正向阉牛港[121]开呢。” 船老大略带轻蔑神情朝海湾北部点了点头。 “那一带有五[]深，”他说，“一点钟左右涨潮，它就会朝那边浮去了。今儿个已经是第九天[122]啦。” 淹死的人。一只帆船在空荡荡的海湾里顺风改变着航向，等待一团泡肿的玩艺儿突然浮上来，一张肿胀的脸，盐白色的，翻转向太阳。我在这儿哪。 他们沿着弯曲的小道下到了湾汊。勃克·穆利根站在石头上，他穿了件衬衫，没有别夹子的领带在肩上飘动。一个年轻人抓住他附近一块岩石的尖角，在颜色深得像果冻般的水里，宛若青蛙似地缓缓踹动着两条绿腿。 “弟弟跟你在一起吗，玛拉基？” “他在韦斯特米思。跟班农[123]一家人在一起。” “还在那儿吗？班农给我寄来一张明信片。说他在那儿遇见了一个可爱的小姐儿。他管她叫照相姑娘[124]。” “是快照吧，呃？一拍就成。” 勃克·穆利根坐下来解他那高腰靴子的带子。离岩角不远处，抽冷子冒出一张上岁数的人那涨得通红的脸，喷着水。他攀住石头爬上来。水在他的脑袋以及花环般的一圈灰发[125]上闪烁着，沿着他的胸脯和肚子流淌下来，从他那松垂着的黑色缠腰市里往外冒。 勃克·穆利根闪过身子，让他爬过去，瞥了海恩斯和斯蒂芬一眼，用大拇指甲虔诚地在额头、嘴唇和胸骨上面了十字[126]。 “西摩回城里来啦，”年轻人重新抓住岩角说，“他想弃医从军呢。” “啊，随他去吧！”勃克·穆利根说。 “下周就该受熬煎了。你认识卡莱尔家那个红毛丫头莉莉吗?” “认得。” “昨天晚上跟他在码头上调情来看。她爸爸阔得流油。” “她够劲儿吗？” “这，你最好去问西摩。” “西摩，一个嗜血的军官，”勃克·穆利根说。 他若有所思地点点头，脱下长裤站起来，说了句老生常谈： “红毛女人浪起来赛过山羊。” 他惊愕地住了口，并摸了摸随风呼扇着的衬衫里面的肋部。 “我的第十二根肋骨没有啦，”他大声说。“我是超人[127]。没有牙齿的金赤和我都是超人。” 他扭着身子脱下衬衫，把它甩在背后他堆衣服的地方。 “玛拉基，你在这儿下来吗？” “嗯。在床上让开点儿地方吧。” 年轻人在水里猛地向后退去，伸长胳膊利利索索地划了两下，就游到湾汊中部。海恩斯坐在一块石头上抽着烟。 “你不下水吗？”勃克·穆利根问道。 “呆会儿再说，”海恩斯说，“刚吃完早饭可不行。” 斯蒂芬掉过身去。 “穆利根，我要走啦，”他说。 “金赤，给咱那把钥匙，”勃克·穆利根说，“好把我的内衣压压平。” 斯蒂芬递给了他钥匙。勃克·穆利根将它撂在自己那堆衣服上。 “还要两便士，”他说，“好喝上一品脱。就丢在那儿吧。” 斯蒂芬又在那软塌塌的堆儿上丢下两个便士。不是穿，就是脱。勃克·穆利根直直地站着，将双手在胸前握在一起，庄严地说： “琐罗亚斯德如是说[128]：'偷自贫穷的，就是借给耶和华……'[129]” 他那肥胖的身躯跳进水去。 “回头见，”海恩斯回头望着攀登小径的斯蒂芬说，爱尔兰人的粗扩使他露出笑容。 公牛的角，马的蹄子，撒克逊人的微笑[130]。 “在'船记'酒馆，”勃克·穆利根嚷道。 "half past twelve." “好吧，”斯蒂芬说。 他沿着那婉蜒的坡道走去。 饰以百合的光明的 司铎群来伴尔， 极乐圣童贞之群……[131] 壁龛里是神父的一圈灰色光晕，他正在那儿细心地穿上衣服[132]。今晚我不在这儿过夜。家也归不得。 拖得长长的、甜甜的声音从海上呼唤着他。拐弯的时候，他摆了摆手，又呼唤了。一个柔滑、褐色的头，海豹的，远远地在水面上，滚圆的。 篡夺者[133]。