Chapter 5 chapter Five

Mr Bloom walked steadily along the line of waggons on Sir John Rogerson's Wharf, past Windmill Lane, Lisk's Linseed Oil Mill, and the Post Office.It would be nice if I told her the address too.Passed the sailor's house.He avoided the noise of the docks in the morning and took the Rue Limoux.A teenage scavenger loitered by the Brady apartment with a basket (the handle was tied with a rope) of meat slung over his arm, smoking someone's chewed cigarette butts.The younger girl with the eczema-scarred forehead looked at him, lazily rubbing a crushed bucket hoop.Tell him that smoking will not grow taller.Forget it, let him go! Anyway, he will not enjoy any glory and wealth in this life.Waiting outside the hotel to take Daddy home.Dad, go home and find Mom.The tavern has been deserted, and there are few customers left.He crossed Townsend Street, passing the sullen Bethel.Earl, yes, "House."Aleph, Burt [2].Then passed the Nichols Funeral Home.The funeral was held at eleven o'clock, and the time was still leisurely.I bet it was Corny Kelleher who took care of today's funeral for the O'Neill Undertaker.Corny this guy always sings with his eyes closed, "I ran into her one time in the park, it was fun to touch her in the dark. Got caught by the cops, asked her name and address, and she hummed Yitong: My Tulalu, Tulalu, huh." Oh, he must be the one who got it.Just find a place and spend a little money to bury him. "My slur, slur, slur, slur."

He stopped in front of the window of the Belfast and Oriental Tea Company on Westland Side Street, reading the label description on the tin foil of the packaged goods: carefully prepared, fine varieties, home black tea.It's hot.Black tea, go get some from Tom Kernan.However, it is inconvenient to mention it to him at the funeral.He continued to read with blank eyes, and at the same time took off his hat, inhaled the smell of his hair oil peacefully, and gently and slowly stretched out his right hand to stroke his forehead and hair.It's a hot morning.He lowered his eyelids and looked at the little bonnet that stretched over the lining of the fine hat.Where is it?His right hand fell from his head and reached into the shell of his hat.With swift fingers, he took out the business card behind the tan leather band and moved it into his vest pocket.

It was hot, and again, more slowly, he reached out his hand and stroked his forehead and hair, then put his hat back on, with a sigh of relief.He read it again and made a selection, using the best Ceylon[5] varieties.Far East.It must be a lovely place, quite the paradise of the world; the languid broad leaves, you could sit on and float about.Cacti, flowering meadows, and what they call snake vines.Is that really the case? Sinhalese loitering in the sun and doing nothing is wonderful.He didn't even move his hands all day long.Twelve months a year, sleep for six months.It was too hot to even bother fighting.This is the effect of climate.Narcolepsy.The flower of laziness.It is mainly nourished by air.nitrogen.Greenhouse in the botanical garden.mimosa.water lilies.The petals are wilting.The atmosphere contains drowsiness.Walk on rose petals.Think about what tripe stew and hooves must taste like.Where did I see a picture of a man, where was it taken? Yes, he was lying on his back at the Dead Sea, holding a parasol, reading a book.Too much salt, you can't sink even if you want to.Because the weight of water, no, the weight of a body floating on the water is equal to the weight of something? Or is volume equal to weight? It’s a law like that.Vance was teaching in high school and playing torreya.University courses, intense courses [6].Lift the weight, seriously, what is the weight? Thirty-two feet per second, per second.The law of falling, every second, every second.They all fell to the ground.Earth.Weight is gravity.

He turned and sauntered across the road.How did she walk with the sausage? It must have been in this way.As he walked he took the folded Liberty from his side pocket, opened it and rolled it upright into a stick.Every time he took a step, he patted his calf with it through his trousers, pretending to be careless, as if he was just dropping in to have a look.Every second, every second.Every second means every second.He cast a sharp glance at the door of the post office from the sidewalk curb.Mailbox for late mail.You can post it here.Not a single person.go in. He passed the card through the brass grille.

"Is there a letter for me?" he asked. As the postmaster searched the drop box, he stared at the recruiting poster.Above are soldiers of various arms marching in formation.He held up the end of the newspaper roll to his nostrils, sniffing the smell of freshly printed rough paper.Perhaps there was no reply.Last time I went too far. The postmaster handed him his card, along with a letter, through the brass grille.He thanked her, and cast a quick glance at the typed envelope: Mr. Henry Flor the city From Westland Side Street Post Office At last a reply came.He stuffed his business card and letter into his side pocket, and looked at the marching soldiers again.Where's the team that Old Tee threatened? Outcast pawns.There, wearing a bearskin cap with bird neck feathers.No, that's a grenadier.Pointed cuffs.Where is he?Company of Dublin Guards.red top.It's too convincing.That's why women chase them.Wear military uniform.Whether it is for enlistment or training, such uniforms are more convenient.Maud Gunney writes that they are a disgrace to our Irish capital and that they should be banned from O'Connell Street at night.Griffith's papers are singing the same tune today.This army has a huge sore on red bayberry, which is already rotten.Overseas or drunken empire.They looked half-baked, as if in a coma.Look ahead! Stand still! Tie Boer: Ai Boer.Bede: Ed. [7] This is the Guards.He never wore a firefighter or police uniform.Well, he also joined the Freemasons. [8]

He walked slowly out of the post office and turned to the right.Can things be done by babbling! He put his hand in his pocket, groped for the flap of the envelope with one forefinger, and tore the letter open in several pieces.I don't think women are so deliberate.He pulled the letter out with his fingers and crumpled the envelope in his pocket.Pinned to the letter was something, perhaps a photograph.Hair? Nope. McCoy came over.Get rid of him now.get in my way.I hate meeting people at times like this. "Hello, Bloom. Where are you going?" "Ah, McCoy. Just hang around."

"How are you?" "Ok. What about you?" "Just make do with it," McCoy said. He stared at the black tie and clothes, and asked in a low voice with concern, "What's the matter... I hope it's all right. I saw you..." "Oh, no," said Mr. Bloom, "that's right, poor Dignam, he's going to be buried today." "Really, poor fellow. That's what it is. What time is it?" That's not a photo.Perhaps an emblem[9]. "Eleven o'clock," replied Mr. Bloom. "I've got to find a way to go," McCoy said. "Eleven o'clock? I heard about it last night. Who told me it was? Holohan. You know One Foot?" [10 ]

"know." Mr Bloom looked towards the outward-facing hansom parked in front of the Grosvenor's Hotel across the road.He picked up the travel suitcase and put it in the luggage slot.She stood silently waiting while the man—her husband, maybe a brother, because he looked like her—fumbled for some change in his pocket.The fancy coats had those lapels that looked like fleece.Today's weather seems too hot.She put her hands in her pockets and stood there carelessly, like the proud lady she had seen at the polo field.Women are all about status until you touch her genitals.Beauty is true beauty.It's only because of condescension that I'm so reserved.That respectable lady...and Brutus is a respectable person[11].Once you have her, you can make her submissive.

"I'm with Bob Dolan, he's got his old problem, he's drunk again, and that guy named Bantam Lyons. We're over there Conway's Bar." Dolan and Lyons in Conway's bar.She raised a gloved hand to her hair. "One Foot" came in and had a drink.He tilted his face up, squinted his eyes, and saw the brightly colored deerskin gloves gleaming in the strong sunlight, as well as the studs on the back of the gloves.Today I can see clearly.Perhaps the surrounding humidity allows one to see into the distance.The guy is still rambling on.She has a pair of lady's hands.Where are you going to drive from?

"He said: 'What a pity our poor friend Paddy!' 'Which Paddy?' said I. 'Poor little Paddy Dignam,' said he." To go to the country, maybe Broadstone[13].Brown boots with dangling sash.The curve of the foot is beautiful.What is he doing with those change when he has nothing to do? She noticed that I was looking at her, as if I was always looking for a man next to me—a good backer.There is always an extra string on the bow. "'What's the matter?' I said. 'What happened to him?' I said." Proud and luxurious, stockings. "Well," said Mr Bloom.

He turned his head slightly to avoid McCoy's talking face.Im about to get in the car. "'What happened to him?' he said. 'He's dead,' he said. Really, he burst into tears. 'Is it Paddy Dignam?' said I. At first hearing, I can't believe it. At least I saw him at the Arch Hotel until last Friday or Thursday. 'Yes,' said he, 'he's gone. He died on Monday, poor man.'" Look! Look! Luxurious snow-white stockings, silky! Look! A heavy tram, jingling its siren, turned around and blocked his sight. The carriage was gone.This noisy snub nose is really hateful.It feels like being shut down. "Paradise and Goblins". [14] This is always the case.Just at the critical moment.It was a Monday, and a girl was adjusting her garters in the aisle of Eustace Street.Her friend covered the exposed part for her.The spirit of mutual assistance [16].Hey, what are you staring at with your mouth open? "Yes, yes," said Mr. Bloom, with a listless sigh, "there's another." "One of the best," McCoy said. The tram passed by.Their carriage drove up to the Ring Bridge, and she held the steel railing in a well-gloved hand.Twinkling, twinkling, the silk ribbon on her hat twinkled and fluttered in the sunlight. "How is your wife?" McCoy said, changing his tone. "Ah, well," said Mr. Bloom, "very well, thank you." He casually opened the rolled newspaper and casually read it, If you don't have one at home, Plum [18] Trademark Canned Meat, That's a fly in the ointment, It is a happy nest. "My wife has just received an engagement offer, but it hasn't been settled yet." Here we go again with the suitcase-borrowing trick[19].It doesn't matter.Thankfully, this approach no longer works for me. Mr. Bloom moved his thick-lidded eyes slowly and friendlyly towards him. "And so does my wife," said he, "and she's going to sing at a very big concert at Ulster Hall in Belfast on the twenty-fifth." "Yeah?" McCoy said. "That's great, old man. Who's going to host it?" Mrs Marion Bloom.I haven't woken up yet.The queen was in her bedroom, eating bread and . [20] No books.Beside her thighs lay seven dirty court cards.Mrs. Brunette and Mr. Blonde[21].letters.The cat curled up into a fuzzy black ball.Fragments torn from the flap of the envelope. ancient sweet Affection Song, heard the old sweet... "It's a kind of tour, you see," said Mr. Bloom thoughtfully. "Sweet love songs. A committee is set up, and dividends are paid out according to the shares." McCoy nodded, pulling at the stubble of his beard. "Well, well," he said, "that's good news." He moves to walk away. "Well, I'm glad you look pretty healthy," he said. "We might meet again somewhere." "Yes," said Mr Bloom. "Again," said McCoy, "at the funeral, can you sign it for me? I'd love to, but maybe I can't. Look, there's a lot of drowning in Savannah." The matter of the man may come up. If the body is found, the coroner and I will have to go. If I am not there, will you put my name on it?" "All right," said Mr. Bloom, and walked away. "Let's do it like this." "Well," said McCoy beaming, "thank you, old chap. I'll go if I can. Now, get over it and write C. P. McCoy." "It will be done," said Mr. Bloom firmly. That trick didn't catch me.Quickly got away.Stupid people are easy to be fooled.I'm not being taken for a ride.What's more, it is a suitcase that I especially love, made of leather.Leather was added to the corners, and the edges were protected with rivets, and double locks were installed.Bob Cowley lent him his when he gave the Wicklow regatta concert last year.Since then, there has been no text. Mr Bloom smiled as he strolled up Brunswick Street. "My wife just got one." A freckled soprano with a voice like a reed flute.A nose shaved from cheese.Singing a folk tune is not bad.No momentum.You and I, you know what, we're in the same situation.This is flattery.The sound was harsh.Couldn't he hear the difference? That's what he likes.Somehow it was not to my liking.I think that concert in Belfast will get him.I hope the smallpox doesn't get worse there.She was afraid she would not be revaccinated.Your wife and my wife. I wonder if he is following? Mr. Bloom stopped at the corner and glanced at the colorful billboards.Cantrell & Cochrane Ginger Ale (Spiced).Clery[23]'s summer sale.No, he walked straight down.Hey, there's Mrs. Bandman Palmer's Leah tonight.Can't wait to see her in this role again.She played Hamlet last night.Dress up as a man.Maybe he was a woman after all.That's why Ophelia committed suicide.Poor Papa! He used to mention Kate Bateman's character.He waited all afternoon outside the Adelphi Theater in London before entering.That was 1865—the year before I was born.And Ristoli [27] in Vienna.What is the name of the play? The author is Mawson Saul.Is it "Lei Jie"? Nope. [28] He often speaks of the scene where old and blind Abraham[29] heard the voice, and put his finger in his face. Nathan's voice! His son's voice! I heard Nathan's voice as he left his father to die a sad and sad death in my arms.Thus he left his father's house, and his father's God[30]. Every word is so deep, Leopold. Poor papa! Poor man! It's a good thing I didn't go into the house to see his face.What a day it was! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Ho! Well, maybe it's best for him. Mr. Bloom turned the corner, past the drooping slumps in the cab park.At this point, it's useless to think about that kind of thing.It's time to put a haybag on the horse.If only I hadn't met this guy McCoy. As he moved closer, he heard the crunch of his golden oats, softly chewing teeth.The horses looked at him with round, ram-like eyes as he walked through the smell of horse piss, tinged with oatmeal.This is their ideal world.Poor fools! They don't know anything, they don't care about anything, and they stick their proboscis ends in haybags.His mouth was so full that he couldn't even scream.Anyway, it can fill the stomach, and there is no shortage of sleep.And had been castrated, a piece of black eucommia gum limply drooped between the waist and legs, swinging.That's it, they're probably pretty happy.At first glance, they are kind and poor animals.However, they can also be irritating when they neigh. He took the letter out of his pocket and rolled it up in the newspaper he had brought.Might run into her here.Alleys are safer. He passed the cabman's shed.The coachman's wandering life is wonderful.No matter what kind of weather, no matter what place, time or distance, it is not up to one's own will.I want it, but I don’t [31].I like to give them a cigarette once in a while.socialize.They shouted a few words as they drove by.He hummed: We will go hand in hand. [32] La la la la la la. He turned into Cumberland Street, walked a few paces, and stopped in the lee of the station wall.There was no one around.Meade Lumber Yard.Stacked beams.Ruins and apartments.He walked cautiously across the hopscotch field, with the forgotten hop-stones on it.I did not foul [33].A doll squatted alone near the lumberyard playing marbles, bouncing the ball with a nimble thumb.A perceptive female tabby cat, Yiran is a blinking sphinx[34], staying on the warm window sill and looking this way, unwilling to disturb them.It is said that Muhammad cut off a piece of his cloak so as not to wake the cat.Open the letter.I also played marbles when I was at the school run by the old lady teacher, who loved mignonette.Mrs. Ellis' school[35].What was her husband's name? Covered with a newspaper, he opened the letter. Inside the letter are flowers.I think so.A yellow flower with crushed petals.So she's not mad at me? What does the letter say? Dear Henry: I received your last letter, thank you very much.Unfortunately, you don't like I like my last letter.Why are you attaching a stamp? I'm so annoyed.how i am I hope I can punish you for this matter.I called you a naughty one, because I don't like that other world[36].Please tell me what that other word really means meaning.aren't you happy in your own home? you poor little rascal? i wish Gotta be able to do something for you.tell me what do you think of me poor man Law.I often think of how cute your name is.Dear Henry, we When will we meet again? You simply cannot imagine how often I miss you.I Never have I been so attracted to a man as I am to you.Made me flustered.Please Write me a long letter and tell me more.Otherwise I will be punished You, you have to remember.You rascal, now you know, if you don't Write a letter, how will I deal with you.Oh, how I look forward to meeting you.dear My Henry, please don't refuse my request, or my patience will be exhausted.arrive I'll tell you right then.Now, goodbye, beloved rascal. I have a terrible headache today, so I must write back immediately to miss you Martha PS: Do tell me which perfume your wife wears.I would like to know. Seriously, he tore off the brooch-pinned flower, sniffed at the almost-disappeared scent, and put it in his breast pocket.The language of flowers. [37] People like it because no one can hear it.Or knock the opponent down with a bouquet of poisonous flowers.So he paced forward slowly, rereading the letter, saying one word after another aloud.Angry at your tulips darling man flowers punishing your cactus if you don't ask poor worms forget-me-nots how I long for violets to darling roses when we're about to meet anemones an ancient naughty nightstem[38] Mrs. Martha's perfume.When he had finished reading, he took the letter out of the newspaper roll and put it back in his side pocket. With a little joy in his heart, he grinned.This letter is different from the first one.I don't know if she wrote it herself.Pretending to be angry: A girl from a good family like me has good conduct.See you on any Sunday when the rosary is over.Thank you, nothing.The little awkwardness that usually happens when you're in a relationship.Then you chased me and hid.Just as troublesome as arguing with Molly.Smoking a cigar can start a sedative effect, it is an anesthetic after all.Come step by step.rascal.punish.Of course, for fear of misphrasing.Rough, why not? Anyway, give it a try, step by step. He was still fingering the letter in his pocket and pulling out the brooch.Wasn't this an ordinary brooch? He threw it in the street.It had been taken from somewhere on her dress, with several brooches fastened together.How strange that women always have so many brooches! There is no rose without thorns. A monotonous Dublin accent rang in his head.That night at Qom[39] two ladies were singing, arm in arm, in the rain: Oh, Maria lost her drawer pin. she doesn't know what to do, so as not to let it fall off, To keep it from falling off. Brooch? Drawers.I have a terrible headache.Perhaps she was just in time for the rose period[40].Or it's the relationship between sitting and typing all day.Staring at the eyes is not good for the stomach nerves.What kind of perfume does your wife wear? Who knows what's going on! To keep it from falling off. Martha, Maria.Now I forget where I saw that painting.Is it the work of an old master, or is it a forgery made for money? He sat in their house, talking.Quite mysterious.The two sisters-in-law in Combe Street were also willing to listen. To keep it from falling off. Feel good in the evening.No more wandering around.Just lazily enjoy the quiet evening and let things take their course.Forget everything.Tell me about the places you have been to and the local customs.Another, with a pitcher on her head, was preparing supper: fruit, olives, cool and delicious water from the well.The well was as cold as stone, like a hole in the wall of Shaashtang.[42]Next time I go to a pony drive[43], I'll have to take a paper cup.She listened, her big eyes soft and dark.Tell her to speak freely.Keep nothing.Then a sigh, followed by silence.Long, long, long break. As he walked under the arched land bridge of the railway, he pulled out the envelope, tore it to pieces, and threw it down the road.Fragments scattered and drifted in the moist air.There was a vast expanse of whiteness, and then everything sank down. Henry Flor.You could tear up a check for a hundred pounds in the same way.It's just a small piece of paper.Lord Ivor is said to have once cashed a seven-figure check for millions of pounds in the Bank of Ireland.It shows how profitable the stout is, but they say his brother Lord Ardilaun still has to change his shirt four times a day because his skin is always infested with lice or fleas.Million pounds, wait a minute.Twopence buys a pint of stout, fourpence a quart, eightpence a gallon.No, it costs one shilling and fourpence a gallon.How many times is twenty shillings one shilling and fourpence? About fifteen times.Yes, exactly fifteen times.That's fifteen million barrels of stout. How do I say barrel? It should say gallon.Anyway, about a million barrels. The incoming train rattled heavily above his head, car after car.In his head, too, the casks were bumping against each other, the sticky stout splashing and churning in the casks.The bungs broke off one by one, and a large amount of cloudy liquid flowed out, gathered together, and twisted through the mudflats, soaking the entire earth.The wine pool swirls slowly, and foamy flowers with broad leaves are constantly emerging. He came to the open back door of All Saints' Church.As he stepped into the porch, he took off his hat, took out his business card from his pocket, and stuffed it behind the tan leather hatband.Well, I could have asked McCoy for a free ticket to Mullingar. The notice was still on the door.The very venerable Jesuit John Kumi delivered a sermon entitled: St. Peter Clever, Jesuit Missionary, and the African Mission.They prayed for Gladstone's conversion to Catholicism when he was almost unconscious.The same goes for Protestants.To convert William J. Walsh, Doctor of Divinity, to the true religion.To save all living beings in China.Don't know how they preached to Chinese pagans.I'd rather have an opium or two.The people of the Celestial Dynasty.To them all this is sheer heresy.Their god is the Tathagata Buddha, resting on his side in the museum peacefully with his hands on his cheeks.Cigarette smoke.It is different from wearing a crown of thorns and being nailed to a cross. "Look! This man!" [49] St. Patrick's idea of ​​the clover was brilliant. [50] Chopsticks [51]? Commi.Martin Cunningham[52] knew him.He has great bearing.It's a pity I didn't work on him, I didn't ask Molly to join the choir, I asked Father Farley.The priest looked like a fool, but he was not.That's how they were bred.He wouldn't put on blue glasses and go sweatingly baptizing black people, would he? Sunglasses would sparkle and attract them.These thick-lipped negroes sat in a circle, listening fascinated.This look is quite interesting, just like a still life painting.I think they must have licked his preaching like milk. The icy breath from the holy stone called to him.He stepped on the worn steps, pushed open the revolving door, and quietly walked in from behind the altar. What event is going on, a gathering of church members.It's a shame it's so empty.If you're looking for an inconspicuous seat, it's not bad to have a girl next to you.Who is my neighbor? [53] Listening to melodious music, we sit together for an hour.It was the woman I met at midnight mass that made me feel like I was in the seventh heaven.The women knelt on benches, scarlet scarves[54] tied around their necks, looking down.A few knelt at the altar rail.The priest muttered words, holding the thing in both hands, and walked in front of them.He stopped in front of everyone and took out a Eucharist.Shake it once or twice (could it be soaked in water? [55]), and send it to her mouth neatly.Her hat and head drooped down.Then came the second one.Her hat immediately fell down too.Then the next one: the short old woman.The priest bent down and put the host into her mouth, and she kept mumbling.That's Latin.Next.Close your eyes and open your mouth.What is it? Corpus[56]: body. Corpse [57].It's a brilliant idea to use Latin.First of all, that would make these women feel bewildered.An asylum for the dying[58].They don't seem to chew: they just swallow the Eucharist.Eating the fragments of the corpse is whimsical, and it is what the cannibals like. He stood aside and watched them, who were veiled, walk along the aisle sequentially, looking for their seats.He went to a bench and sat down on one side, hat and newspaper in his arms.And we had to wear those hats that looked like saucepans.We are supposed to sew hats to the shape of the head.Here, there, all around, women in crimson scarves still looked down, waiting for the Holy Host to melt in their stomachs.It's really a bit like unleavened cake[59], the kind of unleavened cake used for serving.look at them.Now I dare say the Eucharist made them happy.It's like eating a lollipop.is not it.Yes, people call it angel pancakes.There is also a grand association behind this. You feel that you have such a kind of kingdom of God in your heart.First Communion [60].It was really nothing more than a penny-and-pinch swindle.But now they all felt like a family reunion.It feels like being in the same theater, in the same stream.I believe they feel that way, and are therefore less lonely.Because everyone belongs to "our church".I vented my excess energy, and then walked out like a carnival.The problem is, you have to really believe in it.The cure of Lourdes[61], the river of oblivion, the manifestation of Nock[62], the bleeding icon[63].An old man was taking a nap next to the confession pavilion, which is why he kept snoring.blind faith.Stay safe in the bosom of the coming kingdom[64], and all pain ceases.It will wake up by this time next year. He saw the priest put away the communion chalice, put it back inside, and knelt for a moment before it, his lace-trimmed dress showing the soles of his gray boots.What if he lost the brooch in it? He didn't know what to do.A bald patch on the back of his head.Is it INRI[65] written on his back? No, I·H·S·[66].Once I asked Molly, and she said it was: "I have sinned." Or: "I have suffered." The other one? It was: "Iron nails ran in."[67] After saying the rosary on any Sunday, you might as well go see him.Please don't refuse my request.She is covered with a veil, carrying a black handbag, with the light behind her back, and appears in the twilight [68].She entered the hall with a ribbon tied around her neck, but secretly engaged in another kind of business, which is such a character.The guy who tipped the government and betrayed the Evervictor, his name was Carey, and he came every morning to receive communion.Right here in this church.Yeah, Peter Carey.No, I had Peter Claver in mind.Well, it's Dennis Carey[69].think about it.There is still a wife and six children at home.But he has been planning the assassination incident.Those "false pieties"--a good nickname--they always have that sly look about them.They are not serious business people.Ah, no, she's not here.The flower, no, is not there.Also, did I tear up that envelope? Well, it's under the land bridge. The priest drank the chalice, then threw back the rest of the wine with his neck thrown back.wine.It's more grand than the usual Guinness or non-alcoholic drinks like Whitley's Dublin Hop Bitters or Cantrell and Cochrane Ginger Ale (spiced).This is the wine for worship, and the believers are not given a sip; they are only given bread.A cold reception.It's a pious hoax, but it's also very decently done.Otherwise, drunkards would flock to it, all wanting to have a good time.The whole atmosphere will become inexplicable.Very decently done.It makes perfect sense to do so. Mr. Bloom looked back at the choir.Unfortunately there will be no music.Who the hell was playing the organ here? Old Green had a knack for making that instrument ring, a little vibrato. [70] It was said that he had an income of fifty pounds a year in Gardiner Street[71].Molly had a great voice that day, and she sang Rossini's "Standing Madonna."First, Father Bernard Vaughan preached: Christ or Pilate? Christ, but don't mess with us for an evening.Everyone wants to listen to music.The sound of tapping feet stopped.You can even hear a needle drop.I told her to sing to that corner.I felt the vibration of the air, the booming voice, the looking audience. Who... [74] Some of the old sacred music is very splendid, like Mercadante's "The Last Seven Words".[75]Mozart's "Twelfth Mass", especially the "Ode to Glory"[76].Previous popes were keen on music, art, sculpture and even various paintings.Palestrina [77] is an example.They were born in a prosperous age and enjoyed all the blessings.They were all healthy, too, and they recited the Holy Communion on time, and then brewed wine.There is Benedictine[78] and Carthusian Green[79].But having some eunuchs[80] join the choir is a disservice.What tune did they sing? It would be queer to hear the voices of the priests after their own booming basses.Experts.What if there is no feeling after being eunuched? In a sense, it is indifferent.Carefree.They're going to get fat, right? They're all fat, tall and long.Maybe so.Castration is also a way. He saw the priest bend down to kiss the altar, then turn around and bless the congregation.Everyone crossed themselves on their chests and stood up.Mr. Bloom looked round, then rose to look across the raised hats of the congregation.When the Gospel is recited, it is natural to stand up.Then they all knelt down again.As for him, he quietly sat down on the bench again.The priest stepped down from the altar, holding the thing, and asked and answered the deacon in Latin.Then the priest knelt down and began to read, looking at the card, "O God, our refuge and strength..."[81] Mr. Bloom leaned forward to hear more clearly.English is used.Throw them a bone.I vaguely remembered.上次是多久以前来望过弥撒?光荣而圣洁无玷的圣处女。约瑟是她的配偶。彼得[82]和保罗[83]。倘若你能了解这个中情节，就会更有趣一些。这个组织真了不起，一切都接班就绪，有条不紊。忏悔嘛，人人都想做。那么我就一古脑儿对您说出来吧。我悔改，请惩罚我吧。他们手握大权，医生和律师也都只能甘拜下风。女人最渴望忏悔了，而我呢，就嘘嘘嘘嘘嘘嘘。那么你喳喳喳喳喳喳了吗?为什么要这么做?她低头瞧着指环，好找个借口。回音回廊，隔墙有耳。丈夫要是听见了，会大吃一惊的。这是天主开的一个小小的玩笑。然后她就走出来了。其实，所忏悔的只不过是浮皮潦草。多么可爱的羞耻啊。她跪在祭坛前祷告，念着《万福玛利亚》和《至圣玛利亚》。鲜花，香火，蜡烛在融化。她把羞红的脸遮起。救世军[84]不过是赤裸裸的模仿而已。改邪归正的卖淫妇将当众演说：我是怎样找到上主的。那些坐阵罗马的家伙们想必是顽固不化的，他们操纵着整套演出。他们不是也搜刮钱财吗? 一笔笔遗赠也滚滚而来，教皇能够暂且任意支配的圣厅献金[85]。为了我灵魂的安息，敞开大门公开献弥撒。男女修道院。弗马纳[86]的神父站在证人席上陈述。对他吹胡子瞪眼睛是不灵的。所有的提问他都回答得恰到好处。他维护了我们神圣的母亲——教会的自由，使其发扬光大。教会的博士们编出了整套的神学。 神父祷告道： “圣米迦勒总领天使，请尔护我于攻魔，卫我于邪神恶计。(吾又哀求天主，严儆斥之!)今魔魁恶鬼，遍散普世，肆害人灵。求尔天上大军之帅，仗主权能，麾入地狱。” 神父和助祭站起来走了。诸事完毕。妇女留下来念感谢经。 不如溜之乎也。巴茨[87]修士。他也许会端着募款盘前来：请为复活节捐款。 He stood up.咦，难道我背心上这两颗钮扣早就开了吗?女人们喜欢看到这样。她们是决不会提醒你的。要是我们，就会说一声，对不起，小姐，这儿(哦) 有那么一点儿(哦)毛毛。要么就是她们的裙子腰身后边有个钩子开了，露出一弯月牙形[88]。倘若你不提醒一声，她们会气恼的：你为什么不早点儿告诉我? 可她们喜欢你更邋遢一些。幸而不是更靠下边的。他边小心翼翼地扣上钮扣，边沿着两排座位之间的通道走去。穿出正门，步入阳光中。他两眼发花，在冰凉的黑色大理石圣水钵旁边伫立片刻。在他前后各有一位信徒，悄悄地用手蘸了蘸浅浅的圣水。电车，普雷斯科特洗染坊的汽车，一位身穿丧服的寡妇。因为我自己就穿着丧服，所以马上就会留意到。他戴上帽子。几点钟啦?十点一刻。时间还从容。不如去配化妆水。那是在哪儿来着?啊，对，上一次去的是林肯广场的斯威尼药房。开药铺的是轻易不会搬家的。他们那些盛着绿色和金色溶液作为标志的瓶子太重了，不好搬动。汉密尔顿·朗药房，还是发大水的那一年开的张呢。离胡格诺派[89]的教会墓地不远。赶明儿去一趟吧。 他沿着韦斯特兰横街朝南踱去。哎呀，处方在另外那条裤子里哪，而且那把大门钥匙我也忘记带了。这档子葬事真令人厌烦。不过，噢，可怜的伙计，这怪不得他。上次是什么时候给我开的处方呢?且慢。记得我是拿一枚金镑让他找的钱，想必是本月一号或二号喽。对，他可以查查处方存根嘛。 药剂师一页页地往回翻着。他好像发散出一股粗涩、枯萎的气味。脑壳萎缩了。而且上了年纪。炼金术士们曾四处寻找点金石。麻醉剂使你的神经亢奋起来，接着就使你衰老。然后陷入昏睡状态。为什么呢?是一种副作用。一夜之间仿佛就过了一生。会使你的性格逐渐起变化。从早到晚在草药、药膏、消毒剂中间消磨岁月。周围都是些雪花石膏般纯白的瓶瓶罐罐。乳钵与乳钵槌。Aq.Dist.FoL.Laur. Te Virid，[90]这气味几乎教你一闻就百病消除，犹如牙科医生的门铃。庸医[91]。他应该给自己治治病。干药糖剂啦，乳剂啦。头一个采下药草试看医治自己的那个人，可真得需要点勇气哩。药用植物。可得多加小心。这里有的是足以使你神志昏迷的东西。做个试验吧，能把蓝色的石蕊试纸变成红色。用氯仿处理。服用了过量的鸦片酊剂。安眠药。春药。止痛用的鸦片糖浆对咳嗽有害处。要么是毛气孔被堵塞，要么就是粘痰反而会多起来。唯一的办法是以毒攻毒。在你最意想不到的地方能找到疗法。大自然多么乖巧啊。 “大约两周以前吗，先生?” “是的，”布卢姆先生说。 他在柜台跟前等待着，慢慢地嗅着药品那冲鼻子的气味以及海绵和丝瓜瓤那满是灰尘的干燥气味，得花不少时间来诉说自己这儿疼那儿疼呢。 “甜杏仁油、安息香酊剂，”布卢姆先生说，“还有香橙花液……” 这确实使她的皮肤细腻白净如蜡一般。 “还有白蜡，”他说。 那会使她的眸子显得格外乌黑。当我扣着袖口上的链扣的时候，她把被单一直拉到眼睛底下望着我，一派西班牙风韵，并闻着自己的体臭。这种家用偏方往往最灵不过：草莓对牙齿好，荨麻加雨水；据说还有在脱脂乳里浸泡过的燕麦片。皮肤的滋润剂。老迈的女王的儿子当中的一个——就是那位奥尔巴尼公爵吧?对，他名叫利奥波德[92]。他只有一层皮肤。我们有三层。更糟的是，还长着疣子、腱膜瘤和粉刺。然而，你也想要香水啊。你太太使用哪一种香水?西班牙皮肤[93]。香橙花液多么清新啊。那些肥皂的味儿好香，是纯粹的乳白肥皂。还来得及到拐角处去洗个澡——土耳其式的蒸汽浴，外带按摩。泥垢总是积在肚脐眼里。要是由一位漂亮姑娘给按摩就更好了。我还想干那个。是啊，我。在浴缸里干。奇妙的欲望，我。把水排到水星。正经事同找乐子结合起来了。可惜没有时间按摩。反正这一整天都会感到爽快的。葬礼可真教人阴郁。 “哦，先生，”药剂师说，“那是两先令九便士。您带瓶子来了吗?” “没带，”布卢姆先生说，“请给调配好。今天晚些时候我来取吧。我还要一块这种肥皂。多少钱一块?” “四便士，先生。” 布卢姆先生把一块肥皂举到鼻孔那儿。蜡状，散发着柠檬的清香。 “我就要这块，”他说，“统共是三先令一便士。” “是的，先生，”药剂师说，“等您回头来的时候一道付吧，先生。” “好的，”布卢姆先生说。 他从药房里溜达出来，把卷起的报纸夹在腋下，左手握着那块用纸包着、摸上去凉丝丝的肥皂。 从他的腋窝下边传来班塔姆·莱昂斯的声音，并且伸过一只手： “喂，布卢姆，有什么顶好的消息?这是今天的报纸吗?给咱看一眼。” 哎哟，他又刮了口髭!那长长的上唇透出一股凉意。为的是显得少相些。他看上去确实傻里傻气的。比我年轻。 班塔姆·莱昂斯用指甲发黑的黄色手指打开了报纸卷儿。这手也该洗一洗了，去去那层泥垢。Good morning.你用过皮尔牌肥皂吗[94]?他肩膀上落着头皮屑，脑袋瓜儿该抹抹油啦。 “找想知道一下今天参赛的那匹法国马的消息，”班塔姆·莱昂斯说，“他妈的，登在哪儿呢?” 他把折叠起来的报纸弄得沙沙响，下巴颏在高领上扭动着。长了须癣。领子太紧，头发会掉光的。还不如干脆把报纸丢给他，摆脱了拉倒。 “你拿去看吧，”布卢姆先生说。 “阿斯科特。金杯赛。等一等，”班塔姆·莱昂斯喃喃地说，“等一会儿。马克西穆姆二世[95]。” “我正要把它丢掉呢，”布卢姆先生说。 班塔姆·莱昂斯蓦地抬起眼睛，茫然地斜瞅着他。 “你说什么来着?”他失声说。 “我说，你可以把它留下，”布卢姆先生回答道，“我正想丢掉[96]呢。” 班塔姆·莱昂斯迟疑了片刻，斜睨着，随后把摊开的报纸塞回布卢姆先生怀里。 “我冒冒风险看，”他说，“喏，谢谢你。” 他朝着康威角[97]匆匆走去。祝这小子成功。 布卢姆先生微笑着，将报纸重新叠成整整齐齐的四方形，把肥皂也塞了进去。那家伙的嘴唇长得蠢。gamble.近来这帮人成天泡在那儿。送信的小伙子们为了弄到六便士的赌本竟去偷窃。只要中了彩，一只肥嫩的大火鸡就到手了。你的圣诞节正餐的代价只是三便士。杰克·弗莱明就是为了赌博而盗用公款的，然后远走高飞去了美国。如今在开着一家饭店。他们是再也不会回来的了。埃及的肉锅[98]。 他高高兴兴地朝那盖得像是一座清真寺的澡堂走去。红砖和尖塔都会使你联想到伊斯兰教的礼拜寺。原来今天学院里正举行运动会[99]。他望了望贴在学院运动场大门上的那张马蹄形海报：骑自行车的恰似锅里的鳕鱼那样蜷缩着身子[100]。多么蹩脚的广告!哪怕做成像车轮那样圆形的也好嘛。辐条上排列起“运动会、运动会、运动会”字样，轮毂上标上“学院”两个大字。这样一来该多醒目啊。 霍恩布洛尔正站在门房那儿。跟他拉拉关系。兴许只消点点头他就会放你进去转一圈哩。你好吗，霍恩布洛尔先生?你好吗，先生? 天气真是再好不过了。要是一辈子都能像这样该有多好。这正是宜于打板球[101]的天气。在遮阳伞下坐成一圈儿，裁判一再下令改变掷球方向。出局。在这里，他们是没有希望打赢的。六比零。然而主将布勒朝左方的外场守场员猛击出一个长球，竟把基尔达尔街俱乐部的玻璃窗给打碎了。顿尼溪集市[102]更合他们的胃口。麦卡锡一上场，我们砸破了那么多脑壳。[103]一阵热浪，不能持久。生命的长河滚滚向前，我们在流逝的人生中所追溯的轨迹比什么都珍贵。 [104] 舒舒服服地洗个澡吧。一大浴缸清水，沁凉的陶瓷，徐缓地流着。这是我的身体。 [105] 他预见到自己那赤裸苍白的身子仰卧在温暖的澡水之胎内，手脚尽情地舒展开来，涂满溶化了的滑溜溜的香皂，被水温和地冲洗着。他看见了水在自己那拧檬色的躯体和四肢上面起着涟漪，并托住他，浮力轻轻地把他往上推;看见了状似肉蕾般的肚脐眼;也看见了自己那撮蓬乱的黑色鬈毛在漂浮;那撮毛围绕着千百万个娃娃的软塌塌的父亲——一朵凋萎的漂浮着的花。