Chapter 7 Chapter 6 2

Gudong! The car overturned.A coffin fell to the road with a plop and burst open.Paddy Dignam, in his oversized brown suit, was flung out, rolling stiffly in the dust.The red face is now gray.He grinned, as if asking what happened.She should have closed her mouth for him, it was too scary to open her mouth.Internal organs also rot quickly.It's much better to plug all the openings.Yes, that's blocked too.Use wax.The sphincter relaxes and seals up. "Here comes the Dunfield's," announced Mr. Power, as the carriage turned to the right. Cape Dunphy.Stopped to look at several cars returning from the funeral.People are drinking to drown their sorrows.You can take a break while passing by.This is a great location for a hotel.It is estimated that we will stop here on the way home, have a drink, bless him, and let everyone chat to relieve our worries.Elixir of Youth [77].

But suppose something like this happens now.If while rolling, his body was pierced by a nail, would he bleed?I guess, maybe flow, maybe not flow.Depends on where it's stuck.Blood circulation has stopped.However, if it touches an artery, a little blood may ooze out.When buried, it is better to use red—dark red for the wrapping. They proceeded silently down Phibbs Bath Street.An empty funeral car that had just returned from the cemetery passed by, its horseshoes clattering, looking relaxed. Crossguns Bridge; Royal Canal. The river roared out of the gate.On a barge going downstream, among piles of peat, stood a man, and on the towpath by the lock, a horse was loosely tied.Bugaboo sets sail [78].

They stared at him.He took the wooden raft pulled by a fiber rope, along the trickling and overgrown river, waded through the reed pond, passed through the mud, and passed the slim bottles full of mud, one after another. The carcass of a dead dog floated to the coast from the Irish hinterland.Athlone, Mullingar, Moy Valley[79], I could hike along the canal to see Millie.Or go by bike.It would be safe to rent an old horse.Wren had one at the last auction, but it was a lady's car.Develop waterway transportation.James McCann[81] took pleasure in ferrying me to the transition.This way is cheaper.Sailing slowly.It's a covered boat. "Can go camping. And the coffin-ship, to heaven by water. Maybe I'll pop up without writing. By Leixlip and Clone Sila, down the river through lock after lock, straight to Dublin. Peat was brought in from the swamps of the Midlands. Homage—he raised his brown straw hat to Paddy Dignam.

Their carriage passed Brian Bromma's.The cemetery is almost here. "Wonder what has become of our friend Fogerty," said Mr. Power. "Ask Tom Kernan," said Mr. Dedalus. "What's the matter?" said Martin Cunningham, "leave him alone and let him wipe his tears, will you?" "Shadows fade away," said Mr. Dedalus, "memory is dear[84]." The carriage turns left onto Finglas Road.[85] On the right is the stonemason's workshop.The last process.The long and narrow venue is densely packed with silent statues.White, sad.Some stretched out their hands peacefully, while others knelt sadly, pointing their fingers somewhere.There are also chipped stone statue fragments.Moaned in a white silence.To provide you with the best products.Monument builder and stone carver Thomas H. Dennani.

walked over. In front of the house of fellow churchmate Jimmy Geary, an old tramp sat on the sidewalk curb, muttering and pouring dirt and stones out of his big gaping brown boots.He has come to the end of his journey. The car passed one barren garden after another,[86], one gloomy house after another. Mr. Power pointed. "That's where Childs was murdered," he said, "the last house." "Well," said Mr. Dedalus, "a horrible murder. Seymour Bush[87] got him out of the suit. Murder of his own brother. Or so it is said." "Prosecutors have no evidence," Mr Ball said.

"There is only circumstantial evidence," added Martin Cunningham. "It is a rule of law that it is better to let ninety-nine criminals escape than to convict one innocent man.[88]" They looked around.A haunted house.It backed away darkly.The shutters were drawn, no one lived, and the garden was overgrown with weeds.The whole place is over.Unjustly convicted.homicide.The image of the murderer remains on the retina of the victim.People love to read these kinds of stories.The man's head was found in the garden.She's dressed up.How she was killed.A recent homicide.What weapon was used.The killer is still at large.clue.a shoelace.It's time for an autopsy.The inside story of a murder always comes out[89].

This carriage is too crowded.She might not want me to come here so suddenly without warning.Always be cautious with women.When they take off their panties, if you bump into them once, they will never forgive you.She is already fifteen years old. The high fence of the Prospect Cemetery rippled across their field of vision.In the dark poplar grove, a few white statues occasionally appear.There are more and more statues, the white stone statues are clustered among the trees, the white portraits and their fragments are standing up silently, maintaining various postures in the void. The rims of the wheels squeaked against the curbs of the sidewalk and came to a stop.Martin Cunningham stretched out his arms, twisted the handle, and pushed open the door with his knee.He got out of the carriage, and Mr. Power and Mr. Dedalus followed.

Use this moment to move the soap to a nest.Mr. Bloom's hand deftly unbuttoned the back pocket of his trousers, and moved the soap on the paper into the inside pocket of the handkerchief.As he got off the carriage, he put the newspaper he was holding in his other hand back into his pocket. A crude funeral, a large carriage, and three small ones.Not all are the same.Pallbearers, golden reins, requiem mass, and hanging cannons.Set the stage for death.A peddler stood opposite the carriage in the back of the hall, and there were pastries and fruits on the two-wheeled cart beside him.They were Simnel cakes[91], all stuck together.It was a pastry for the dead.Dog biscuits [92].Who eats it?Mourners walking from the cemetery.

He followed his companions.Then came Mr Kernan and Ned Lambert.Hines also walked behind them.Standing by the open door of the hearse, Corny Kelleher produced a pair of wreaths and handed one of them to the boy. Where did the funeral procession for that doll just disappear? From Finglas came a herd of horses, trudging heavily, dragging a cart laden with massive granite, and their rattling broke the silence of the funeral as they passed.The handlebars who lead the way at the front nod to them.Now it's a coffin.Although he is dead, he came before us. [94] The horse turned its head to look at the coffin, the feather on its head slanted towards the sky.Its eyes were glazed over: the yoke was constricting its neck like it was compressing a blood vessel or something.These Ma Xiaos don't know what they bring here every day?There must be twenty or thirty funerals every day.Protestants also have Jerome Hill Cemetery.All over the world, funerals are being held every minute.If you use a shovel to shovel into Saturn in a carload, it will be several times faster.Thousands are buried every hour.There are too many people in the world.

The mourners came out of the gate.A woman and a little girl.The woman was a tough-looking woman with a pointed chin and the look of a haggler, with a bonnet on one side.The little girl's face was stained with dust and tears. She took the woman's arm and looked up, waiting for the signal to cry.His fish-like face was livid and bloodless. The undertakers put the coffin on their shoulders and carried it through the gate.The body was heavy.Just now I stepped out of the bathtub, and I also felt that my weight had increased.The dead man leads, followed by the dead man's friends.Corny Kelleher and the boy followed with wreaths.Who is next to them?Ah, the brother-in-law of the deceased.

Everyone followed suit. Martin Cunningham whispered: "It pained me so much when you spoke of suicide in front of Bloom." "Why?" whispered Mr. Power. "What's the matter?" "His father took poison," Martin Cunningham whispered to him. "He kept the Queen's in Ennis. Didn't you hear him say he was going to Clare too? It was the anniversary of his death." "Oh, dear!" said Mr. Ball in a low voice. "It's the first time I've heard of it. Poison?" He turned his head and looked at the face with the dark, pensive eyes.As he spoke, the man followed them to the cardinal's tomb.[96] "Are you insured?" "I think it must be," said Mr. Kernan, "but the insurance policy has been mortgaged, and a large sum of money has been borrowed. Martin is trying to find a way to send the boy to Altan." "How many children did he leave behind?" "Five. Ned Lambert said he'd try to get a girl in Todd." "Terrible enough," said Bloom softly, "five young children." "A great blow to the poor wife," added Mr. Kernan. "That's right," echoed Mr. Bloom. Now, she has successfully survived him. He looked down at his well-oiled boots.She outlived him.lost her husband.This death meant more to her than to me.There is always one that outlives the other.Wise men say that there are more women than men in the world. [99] Comfort her: your loss is too great.I hope you will follow him soon.That can only be said of Hindu widows. [100] She will remarry.marry him?No.But who knows what will happen next?After the old queen died, she was not happy to be a widow.Shipped in a cannon cart.Victoria and Albert.A memorial service at Frogmore. [101] But she stuck some violets in the bonnet afterwards.Deep down[102], she is vain after all.It's all for a shadow.The queen's consort, not even the king.Her sonship is real.There could be new hope[103]; not like the past she waited in vain to call back.The past is never coming back. Someone has to go first.Alone in the earth, no longer sleeping in her warm bed. "How are you, Simon?" Ned Lambert said softly, shaking hands. "Haven't seen you even on Sunday for almost a month." "It's never been better. How is everyone in the city of Cork?" "On Easter Monday I went to see the races at Cork Park," said Ned Lambert, "the same old six shillings and eightpence. night at home." "Dick is a real man, how is he?" "There's nothing between his scalp and the sky," replied Ned Lambert. "Oh, my St. Paul!" said Mr. Dedalus, with suppressed astonishment. "Has Dick Teavee gone?" "Martin's getting a donation for those boys," said Ned Lambert, pointing ahead. "A few shillings apiece. Let's keep them till the insurance pays." "Yes, yes," said Mr. Dedalus hesitantly, "is the first one the eldest son?" "Yes," said Ned Lambert, "next to his uncle. Behind him is John Henry Menton [107].He pledged a pound. " "I'm sure he will," said Mr. Dedalus. "I've often said to poor Paddy that he ought to be more careful about his job. John Henry isn't the worst man in the world." people." "How did he lose his job?" asked Ned Lambert. "Drinking, or what?" "That's what a lot of good people do," said Mr. Dedalus with a sigh. They stopped by the door of the chapel of the mortuary.Mr. Bloom stood behind the boy with the wreath, looking down at his neatly combed hair and his thin, notched neck with its new stiff collar.Poor boy! I wonder if he was there when his father died?Neither side realizes that death is approaching.It was only when he was dying that he returned to the light and recognized someone for the last time.How many attempted wishes.I owe O'Grady three shillings[108].Can he understand?The undertaker carried the coffin into the chapel.Where is his head? After a while he walked in after the others, blinking in the daylight filtering in through the curtains.The coffin rested on the bier in front of the altar, and a tall yellow candle was lit at each of the four corners.It is always ahead of us.Corny Kelleher placed a wreath in each of the four corners, then gestured to the boy to kneel.Here and there mourners knelt at the prayer table.Mr Bloom stood at the back, not far from the holy water bowl.After everyone knelt down, he took out a newspaper from his pocket and spread it out, carefully spread it on the ground, and knelt on it with his right knee bent.He gently buckled the black hat on his left knee, held the brim of the hat with his hand, and bent down reverently. A deacon came in through a door, carrying a brass bucket[109] of something, followed by the white-robed priest.With one hand he was arranging the sacrificial belt, and with the other he was holding a small book on his toad-like belly.Who will read this book?Rook said: I. [110] They stopped before the bier.The priest began to read his book in a smooth voice. Father Coffey.I know his surname sounds like "coffin".[111]Do Minei Nami Nei [112].His mouth looked domineering.Domineering.Robust Christians [113].Woe to anyone who squinted at him.Because he is a priest.You shall be called Peter[114].Dedalus once said that his stomach would burst sideways like a sheep eating clover.With such a big belly, it looks like a puppy that has been poisoned to death.The man found the funniest explanation.Hmph, it's broken. Please do not interrogate me, your servant. [115] Praying for them in Latin will make them feel a little more valuable.Requiem Mass.In splendid mourners[116].Black framed stationery.Your name is already on the altar list [117].It's chilly in here.You have to eat something good.Sitting in the dark all morning, knocking on his heels, waiting for the next one.Even the eyes are like toads.What made him so bloated?Molly gets bloated when she eats cabbages.Perhaps the air here is at fault.It seems to be filled with plague.This area must be filled with a plague like hell.Take butchers: they become like raw steaks.Who told me it was coming?It was Mervyn Brown[118].St. Warburg's has a lovely old organ that has seen a hundred and fifty frosts.In the underground mourning hall of the church, a hole must be dug in the coffin from time to time to release the poisonous gas and burn it.The blue ones keep bubbling out.Just one puff and you're done. My knee hurts.Well.This is better. The priest took out a stick with a round top from the bucket carried by the deacon, and threw it at the coffin.Then he went to the other end and swung it again.Then he strolled back and put the stick back in the barrel.As you were before your rest, so you are now.Everything was written down and he just obeyed. Don't let us be tempted. [119] The deacon answered in a shrill voice. [120] I often feel that it is better to hire a small servant at home.No more than fifteen years old.No matter how big it is, it will naturally... That must have been holy water.What is spilled is eternal sleep.He must be tired of the job.All the corpses sent by Tianchao are thrown away.It would be all right if he could see who he was pouring holy water on.Every day brings a new batch of middle-aged men, old women, dolls, pregnant women who died in childbirth, bearded men, bald businessmen, tuberculosis girls with breasts as small as sparrows.He prayed the same prayer for them as an adult and sprinkled them with holy water, rest in peace.Now it was Dignam's turn. in heaven. [121] It is said that he is about to ascend to heaven or has already ascended to heaven.Say that to everyone.It's a tiresome job.But he had to say something. The priest closed his book and left, followed by the deacon.Corny Kelleher opened the side door and the gravediggers came in and lifted the coffin again and carried it out on their carts.Corny Kelleher handed one wreath to the boy and the other to his uncle.They followed them through the side door into the soft gray air outside.Mr Bloom is in the rear.He folded the newspaper again, put it back in his pocket, and looked down gravely at the ground until the coffin cart turned left.Metal wheels rubbed against the gravel, making a sharp rattling sound.A pair of boots clumped behind the barrow along the path between the cemeteries. Cluck clack clack clack lol.Lord, I mustn't hum a little tune here. "O'Connell's Round Tower," said Mr. Dedalus, looking around. Mr. Power looked up with soft eyes at the top of the tall conical tower. "Rest in peace old Dan O[123] among his people," he said, "but his heart is buried in Rome[124]. How many broken hearts are buried here, Simon!" "There's her [125] grave, Jack," said Mr. Dedalus, "and I'll be lying beside her in a short time. Take me any time God pleases." His spirit broke down, he began to cry secretly, and staggered a little.Mr. Power took his arm. "She's better off there," he said tenderly. "That's true," said Mr. Dedalus, with a faint breath. "If there is a heaven, I suppose she is there." Corny Kelleher stepped from the line to the curb, letting the mourners plod past him. "A sad occasion," Mr Kernan began politely. Mr. Bloom closed his eyes and gave two mournful nods. "Everybody else has their hats on," said Mr. Kernan. "I think we might as well. We're at the tail end. You can't be careless in a cemetery." They put on hats. "Don't you think Monsieur Reverend is saying the prayers a little too quickly?" said Mr. Kernan reproachfully. Mr. Bloom gazed into his keen, bloodshot eyes, and nodded gravely.Treacherous eyes, insight into the secrets of the heart.I suppose he's Masonic, but I'm not sure.Next to him again.We are at the end.Together in times of trouble [126].I wish he could say something else. Mr Kernan added: "I dare say the Irish Anglican[127] services at Jerome Hill Cemetery are more austere and more impressive." Mr Bloom cautiously agreed.Of course, language is another matter. [128] Mr. Kernan said solemnly: "I am the resurrection and the life.[129] These words touch the depths of the human heart." "Yes," said Mr Bloom. It may touch your heart, but of what value is it to the man now tiptoeing at the daisy, perched in a coffin six feet long by two feet wide?Can't touch his heart.The place where the feelings are placed.A broken heart.It's a pump after all, pumping thousands of gallons of blood every day.Until one day it gets blocked, and it's over.The place is littered with such organs, lungs, hearts, livers.The old rusty pump, that's all.resurrection and life.Once a person dies, he is dead.Doomsday concept. [130] Go knock on graves and call them all up. "Lazarus, come out!"[131] However, he was the fifth to come out, so he lost his job. [132] Rise up! This is the end! So everyone groped around for his liver, lungs, and other internal organs.It would be great if I could get myself together that morning.There was only a pound of powder in the skull.Twelve grams per pound.Troy system [133]. Corny Kelleher walked alongside them. "Everything's going first class," he said. "How's it going?" He looked at them calmly with his eyes.Police shoulders.Tu la lu humming a little tune. "As it should be," said Mr. Kernan. "What? Uh?" said Corny Kelleher. Mr. Kernan reassured him. "Who's that fellow in the back walking with Tom Kernan?" asked John Henry Menton. "He looks familiar." Ned Lambert glanced back. "Bloom," he said, "before, no, I mean now, there was a soprano named Mrs. Marion Tweedy. She was the man's wife." "Oh, yes," said John Henry Menton, "I haven't seen her for a long time. She was very pretty. I danced with her; well, it's been ten years since then." Five—oh, seventeen golden years. It was at Matt Dillon's in Roundtown. She had a hug back then." He turned his head and looked through the gap between people. "Who is he?" he asked. "What does he do? Has he been in the stationery business? I had an argument with him one night, at the bowling-green, I think." Ned Lambert smiled. "Yes, he did that," he said, "selling blotters at Wisdom Healy's." "My God," said John Henry Menton, "why did she marry such a bad guy? She had a lot of energy back then." "It's not ambiguous these days," said Ned Lambert. "He's in charge of advertising." John Henry Menton's large eyes stared straight ahead. The cart turns into a side track.A burly man was waiting in the grass, raising his hat in respect.The gravediggers also touched their caps. "John O'Connell," said Mr. Power cheerfully, "he never forgot his friends." Mr. O'Connell shook hands with each one in silence.Mr Dedalus said, "I'm here to visit you again." "My dear Simon," replied the cemetery keeper in a low voice, "I don't want your visits at all!" After paying his respects to Ned Lambert and John Henry Menton, he walked on next to Martin Cunningham, still fiddling with two long keys behind his back. "Have you ever heard about the Mulcahy thing in Combe Street?" he asked. "I haven't heard of it," said Martin Cunningham. They all moved their heads in top hats towards each other, and Hynes listened attentively.The steward's two thumbs were hooked on a crooked gold watch chain.Facing their blank smiling faces, he spoke in a cautious tone. "There is a story told," he said, "that a couple of drunks came here one foggy evening to find the grave of a friend. They asked about Mulcahy in Coombe Street, and they were told that the man was buried in Where. They groped in the fog for a while, and they found the tomb. One drunk spelled out the name of the dead man: Terrence Mulcahy. Another drunk turned towards the statue of the Redeemer that the widow had asked for Just blink." The caretaker rolled his eyes and glanced at a grave beside them.Then say: "He stared at the icon for a long time with wide-eyed eyes and said: 'It's not like that man at all.' Then he said: 'Whoever made it, it's not Mulcahy.'" Everyone listened and smiled.Then he was late, went to talk to Corny Kelleher, accepted the receipt handed over by the other party, and looked at it while walking. "It was all deliberate," Martin Cunningham explained to Hines. "I know," Hines said, "I noticed that too." "It's for cheering him up," said Martin Cunningham, "from purely good intentions, and nothing else." Mr. Bloom admired the steward's plump, burly figure.Everyone is happy to associate with him.John O'Connell was a decent man, a genuinely good man.Those two keys on him looked like an ad for Case's shop.Don't worry about someone slipping out.No pass required.Get personal protection.After the funeral, I have to go through that ad.When I was writing to Martha that day, she barged in.I covered it with an envelope, did it say Bowles Bridge[136]?Let's hope it doesn't end up in dead letter depository.Better to shave.Gray beard stubble is growing, which is a sign of graying hair.My temper also turned bad.Silver strands in the center of gray hair. [137] Think about it, being a wife to such a man! I wonder how he got up the courage to propose to other girls back then.Come on, live with me in the graveyard.Use this to seduce her.She might have been excited at first.Court death.Here, under the darkness of night, dead bodies lay everywhere.When the cemetery opened its mouth, ghosts came out of the grave. [138] I think Daniel O'Connell must be his descendant.Whoever looked at it, Daniel was often said to be a strange, fecund man[139], and at the same time a great Catholic, standing in the dark like a mighty giant.Will-o'-the-wisp.Fever in the grave.She had to get her mind off of this stuff.Otherwise, don't want her to conceive.Women are especially sensitive.Tell her a ghost story in bed and lull her to sleep.Have you ever seen a ghost?Well, I've seen it.It was a dark night.The clock is striking twelve.However, as long as the emotions are properly mobilized, they will definitely come to kiss.In Turkey, there are still sisters in the grave.As long as you start when you are young, you can learn everything from home.Here you might even be able to hook up with a little widow.Men like this.Talk about love in the tombstone.Romeo [140].Spice up the fun.In death we are in company with life. [141] Both ends are connected.Those poor dead watched helplessly, so they had to worry about it.It's like letting a hungry person smell the aroma of grilled steak and make them burn with hunger.Desires torment people.Molly wanted to do it by the window.Anyway, the administrator has eight children. In his life, he has seen many people buried in the earth and lying under the surrounding tombs.Holy cemetery.If it is buried vertically, it will definitely save some space.Sitting or kneeling postures cannot be avoided.Bury standing? [142] If the earth should sink some day, his head would probably come out of the ground, and his hand would still be pointing somewhere.The whole area under the ground has become a honeycomb, which is composed of rectangular hives.And he kept the cemetery very tidy: he mowed the lawn and trimmed the edges.Major Gamble[143] called this Jerome Hill his own garden.is not it.Sleeping flowers should be planted.Mashtiansky [144] once told me that there are huge poppies planted in the Chinese tombs, and high-quality opium can be harvested.The botanical garden is just ahead.It is the blood that invades the soil that gives new life.It is said that the Jews murdered Christian boys on this idea. [145] People's price tags vary.A well-maintained, fat body, a gentleman, a gourmand, is invaluable to the orchard.Here is the recently deceased William Wilkinson (auditor and accountant), cheaply disposed of at three pounds thirteen shillings and sixpence.Thank you very much. I dare say that with all this manure, bones, flesh, and nails, the soil will be extremely fertile.There are mortuaries.Creepy.All rotted and turned green and pink.It also rots quickly in wet soil.Skinny old people don't rot so easily.Then it turns into something like tallow, cheese.Then it started to turn black and ooze a syrupy black liquid.Finally shriveled.Skeleton Moth [146].Of course, no matter the cells, no matter what is beside them, they will continue to live.Constantly changing.In fact, matter is immortal.If there is no nourishment, suck nourishment from yourself. But maggots are sure to multiply.There were indeed swarms of maggots wriggling in the soil.It simply makes your "cloud" head turn.Those pretty little girls on the seashore. [147] He watched all this with contentment.It gave him a sense of power to think that everyone else was in the ground before him.I don't know how he looks at life.One joke after another popped out of his mouth, warming the creases on his heart.There's this joke about a death bulletin: "Spurgion set out for heaven at four o'clock this morning. It's eleven o'clock in the evening (closing time) and hasn't arrived yet. Peter.[148]" As for the dead man himself, M. Girls love to hear a good joke anyway, and girls want to know what's new.A juicy pear, or a lady's punch[149], hot and tangy and sweet.Can resist moisture.You have to smile sometimes, so why not. The diggers in Hamlet[150].Demonstrates a deep understanding of the human psyche.Regarding the dead, at least two years later, I dare not make fun of them.Nothing to say about the dead but the past. [151] Wait until the funeral is over.It's hard to imagine what his own funeral will be like.Like a joke.They say you can live longer if you read your own obituary.Make you rejuvenate and live another life. "How many stalls do you have tomorrow?" the administrator asked. "Two gears," said Corny Kelleher, "ten-thirty and eleven." The administrator put the ticket in his pocket.The cart stopped.The mourners dispersed and walked cautiously around the tombs to either side of the tomb.The gravediggers brought the coffin, lowered the front of the coffin against the edge of the grave, and tied ropes around the coffin. To bury him.We have come to bury Caesar.His mid-March or mid-June[152].He didn't know who was there and didn't care. Hey, who's that tall, thin idiot over there in a tape raincoat[153]?I would like to know.If someone tells me, I'd like to give a small gift.There's always someone who you never expected to show up again.A man can live his whole life alone.Yes, he can.Although he could have dug his own grave, someone had to cover it after he died.We all do.Only human beings are buried when they die.No, ants bury too.This is the first thing that comes to anyone's mind.Bury the remains.Robinson Crusoe is said to have lived a life in obedience to nature.Well, he was buried by Friday anyway. [154] Speaking of which, every Friday is buried with a Thursday. Oh, poor Robinson Crusoe! how can you do this [155] Poor Dignam! It was his last, lying on the ground in a coffin-box.Thinking about all those dead people was like trampling wood, indeed.It was all eaten by moths.They could have invented a nice bier with slides on it, and the body would just slide down like that.Ah, maybe they don't want to be buried with utensils that others have used.They can be very picky.Bury me in the soil of my hometown.A handful of soil from a holy place. [156] Only the mother and the stillborn were buried in the same coffin.I understand what this means.I know.The purpose is to protect the baby as much as possible for a few days even after being buried.The home of the Irishman is his coffin[157].Using embalming spices in the catacombs is the same idea as mummies. Mr Bloom stood behind with his hat, counting the heads with their hats off.twelve.I am thirteenth.No, the guy in the tape raincoat was the thirteenth.ominous number.Where did that guy pop up out of nowhere?I could swear he wasn't in the chapel just now.The superstition about Thirteen[158] is nonsense. Ned Lambert's suit was of soft fine tweed, somewhat purplish in hue.I also had a set like this when we lived on West Lombard Street.Back then he used to be a dressy person, often changing into three outfits a day.I'll have to have Messias [159] change my gray suit.Hey, his set turned out to be dyed.His wife—oh, I forgot he was a bachelor—maybe the landlady of the apartment should take those threads off for him. [160] The coffin had been slowly lowered out of sight by the workmen standing with their legs spread apart on the plinth of the tomb.They climbed up and out of the tomb.Everyone took off their hats.There are twenty people in total. silence. What if we all suddenly became other people? In the distance a donkey brayed.It is going to rain.Donkeys are not that stupid.People say that no one has ever seen a dead donkey.They are ashamed of death, so they hide.My poor papa also died at a distance. The warm wind blows in whispers around the capped head.People chirped.The boy standing on the top of the tomb held the wreath in his hands and stared silently at the dark, unsealed tomb.Mr. Bloom trailed behind the heavyset, kind-hearted caretaker.Well-cut long gowns.Maybe he was estimating and seeing whose turn it was next.Well, here is the long rest.I don't feel it anymore.It is only felt at the moment of death.准是不愉快透了。开头儿简直难以置信。一定是搞错了，该死的是旁的什么人。到对门那家去问问看。且慢，我要。我还没有。然后，死亡的房间遮暗了。他们要光。 [161]你周围有人窃窃私语。你想见见神父吗？接着就漫无边际地胡言乱语起来。隐埋了一辈子的事都在谵语中抖搂出来了。临终前的挣扎。他睡得不自然。按一按他的下限睑吧。瞧瞧他的鼻子是否耸了起来，下颚是否凹陷，脚心是否发黄。既然他是死定了，就索性把枕头抽掉，让他在地上咽气吧。 [162]在“罪人之死”那幅画里，魔鬼让他看一个女人。他只穿着一件衬衫，热切地盼望与她拥抱。 《露西亚》 [163]的最后一幕。我再也见不到你了吗？砰!他咽了气。终于一命呜呼。人们谈论你一阵子，然后就把你忘了。不要忘记为他祷告。祈祷的时候要惦记着他。甚至连巴涅尔也是如此，常春藤日[164] 渐渐被人遗忘了。然后，他们也接踵而去，一个接一个地坠入穴中。 眼下我们正为迪格纳穆灵魂的安息而祷告。愿你平平安安，没下地狱。换换环境也蛮好嘛。走出人生的煎锅，进入炼狱[165]的火焰。 他可曾想到过等待着他的那个墓穴？人们说，当你在阳光下打哆嗦时，就说明你想到了。有人在墓上踱步。传唤员来招呼你了：快轮到你啦。我在靠近芬格拉斯路那一带买下一块茔地，我的墓穴就在那里。妈妈，可怜的妈妈，还有小鲁迪也在那里永眠。 掘墓工们拿起铁鍬，将沉甸甸的土块儿甩到穴里的棺材上。布卢姆先生扭开他的脸。倘若他一直还活着呢？唷!哎呀，那太可怕啦!不，不，他已经死了，当然喽。他当然已经死啦。他是星期一咽气的。应该规定一条法律，把心脏扎穿，以便知道确已死亡;要么就在棺材里放一只电钟或一部电话，装个帆布做的通气孔也行。求救信号旗。以三天为限。夏天可搁不了这么久。一旦验明确实断了气，还是马上把棺材封闭起来的好。 土坷垃砸下去的声音越来越小了。已开始被淡忘了。眼不见，心也不想了。 管理员移动了几步，戴好帽子。真够了。送葬者们舒了口气，一个个悄悄地戴上帽子。布卢姆先生也把帽子戴好。他望到那个魁梧的身姿正灵巧地穿过墓丛的迷津拐来拐去。他静静地、把握十足地跨过这片悲伤的场地。 海因斯在笔记本上匆匆地记着什么。啊，记名字哪。然而所有的人他都认识啊。咦，朝我走过来了。 “我在记名字，”他压低嗓门说，“你的教名是什么来着？我没把握。” “利，”布卢姆先生说，“利奥波德。你不妨把麦科伊的名字也写上。他托付过我。” “查理，”海因斯边写边说，“我晓得。他曾经在《自由人报》工作过。” Is such that.后来他才在收尸所找到了差事，当路易斯·伯恩[166]的帮手。让大夫来验尸倒是个好主意。原来只是凭想象，这下子可以弄明真相了。他是星期二死的。 [167]就那样溜了。收了几笔广告费，就携款逃之夭夭。查理， 你是我亲爱的人。 [168]所以他才托付我的。啊，好的，不碍事的，我替你办就是了，麦科伊。劳驾啦，老伙计，衷心感谢。一点儿都没破费，还让他领了我的情。 “我想打听一下，”海因斯说，“你认识那个人吗？那边的那个穿，身穿……” 他东看看西望望。 “胶布雨衣。是的，我瞅见他了，”布卢姆先生说，“现在他在哪儿呢？” “焦勃雨伊，”海因斯边草草记下边说，“我不知道他是谁。这是他的姓吧？” 他四下里望了望，走开了。 “不是，”布卢姆先生开口说。他转过身去，想拦住海因斯，“喂，海因斯!” did not hear it.what happened?他到哪儿去啦？连个影儿都没有了。喏，可真是。这儿可曾有人见过？凯歌的凯，利益的利。 [169]消失了踪影。天哪，他出了什么事？ 第七个掘墓人来到布卢姆先生身旁，拿起一把闲着的铁鍬。 “啊，对不起!” 他敏捷地闪到一边去。 墓穴里开始露出潮湿的褐色泥土。逐渐隆起。快堆完了。湿土块垒成的坟头越来越高，又隆起一截。掘墓工们停下了挥鍬的手。大家再度脱帽片刻。男孩儿把他的花圈斜立在角落里，那位舅爷则将自己那一只放在一块士坷垃上。掘墓工们戴上便帽，提着沾满泥土的铁鍬，朝手推车走去。接着，在草皮上轻轻地磕打一下鍬刃，拾掇得干干净净。一个人弯下腰去摘缠在鍬把上的一缕长草。另一个离开伙伴们，把鍬当作武器般地扛着，缓步走去，铁刃闪出蓝光。还有一个在坟边一声不响地卷着拢棺材用的绳子。他的脐带。那位舅爷掉过身去要走时，往他那只空着的手里塞了点儿什么。默默地致谢。您费心啦，先生。Hard work.Shake your head.I know.只不过向你们大家表表寸心。 送葬者们沿了弯弯曲曲的小径徐徐地走着，不时地停下来念念墓上的名字。 “咱们弯到首领[170]的坟墓那儿去看看吧，”海因斯说，“时间还很从容。” “好的，”鲍尔先生说。 他们向右拐，一路在缓慢思索着。鲍尔先生怀着敬畏的心情，用淡漠的声调说： “有人说，他根本就不在那座坟里。棺材里装满着石头。说有一天他还会来的。” 海因斯摇了摇头。 “巴涅尔再也不会来啦，”他说，“他的整个儿肉体都在那里。愿他的遗骨享受安宁。” 布卢姆先生悄悄地沿着林荫小径向前踱去。两侧是悲恸的天使，十字架，断裂的圆柱[171]，家茔、仰望天空做祷告的希望的石像，还有古爱尔兰的心和手。倒不如把钱花在为活人办点慈善事业上更明智一些哩。为灵魂的安息而祈祷。难道有人真心这么祷告吗？把他埋葬，一了百了。就像用斜槽卸煤一样。然后，为了节省时间，就把他们都凑在一堆儿。万灵节[172]。二十七日我要给父亲上坟。给园丁十先令。他把茔地的杂草清除得一干二净。他自己也上了岁数，还得弯下腰去用大剪刀咯吱咯吱修剪。半截身子已经进了棺材。某人溘然长逝。某人辞世。 [173 ]就好像是他们都出于自愿似的。他们统统是被推进去的。某人翘辫子。倘若再写明这些死者生前干的是哪一行，那就更有趣了。某某人，车轮匠。我兜售软木。 [174]我破了产，每镑偿还五先令了事。要么就是一位大娘和她的小平底锅：爱尔兰炖肉是我的拿手好菜。乡村墓园挽歌非那一首莫属，究竟是华兹华斯还是托马斯·坎贝尔作的呢？[175]照新教徒的说法就是进入安息。[176]老穆伦大夫常挂在嘴上的是：伟大的神医召唤他回府。喏，这是天主为他们预备的园地。[177] 一座舒适的乡间住宅。新近粉刷油漆过。对于静静地抽烟和阅读《教会时报》[178]来说，是个理想的所在。他们从来不试图把结婚启事登得漂亮些。挂在门把手上的生锈的花圈，花冠是用青铜箔做的。花同样的钱，可就更经久了。不过，还是鲜花更富诗意。金属的倒是永不凋谢，可渐渐地就令人生厌了。灰毛菊[179]，索然无味。 一只鸟儿驯顺地栖在白杨树枝上，宛如制成的标本似的。就像是市政委员胡珀[180]送给我们的结婚礼品。嘿!真是纹丝儿不动。它晓得这儿没有朝它射来的弹弓。死掉的动物更惨。傻米莉把小死鸟儿葬在厨房的火柴匣里，并在坟上供个雏菊花环，铺一些碎瓷片儿。 那是圣心[181]，裸露着的。掏出心来让人看。应该把它放得靠边一点，涂成鲜红色，像一颗真的心一般。爱尔兰就是奉献于它或是类似东西的。看来一点儿也不满意。为什么要受这样的折磨？难道鸟儿会来啄它吗？就像对拎着一篮水果的男孩那样？然而他说不会来啄，因为鸟儿理应是怕那个男孩的。那就是阿波罗[182]。 这许多![183]所有这些人，生前统统在都柏林转悠过。信仰坚定的死者们。我们曾经像你们现在这样。 [184] 而且你又怎么能记得住所有的人呢？眼神，步态，嗓音。声音嘛，倒是有留声机。在每座坟墓里放一架留声机，或是保管在家里也行。星期天吃罢晚饭，放上可怜的老曾祖父的旧唱片。喀啦啦!喂喂喂我高兴极啦喀啦喀高兴极啦能再见到喂喂高兴极啦喀噗嘶嘘。会使你记起他的嗓音，犹如照片能使你忆起他的容貌一样。不然的话，相隔那么十五年，你就想不起他的长相了。譬如谁呢？譬如我在威兹德姆·希利的店里时死去的一个伙计。 吱嚕吱嚕!石头子儿碰撞的声音。Wait a minute.停下来! 他定睛看看一座石砌墓穴。有个什么动物。Oh.它在走动哪。 一只胖墩墩的灰鼠[185]趔趔趄趄地沿着墓穴的侧壁爬过去，一路勾动了石头子儿。它是个曾祖父，挺在行哩。懂得窍门。这只灰色的活物想扁起身子钻到石壁脚板下，硬是扭动着身子挤进去了。这可是藏匿珍宝的好场所。 谁住在这儿？罗伯特·埃默里的遗体安葬于此。罗伯特·埃米特是在火炬映照下被埋葬在这儿[186]的吧？老鼠在转悠哪。 如今，尾巴也消失了。 像这么个家伙，三下两下就能把一个人吃掉。不论那是谁的尸体，连骨头都给剔得干干净净。对它们来说，这就是一顿便饭。尸体嘛，左不过是变了质的肉。对，可奶酪又是怎样呢？是牛奶的尸体。我在那本《中国纪行》里读到：中国人说白种人身上有一股尸体的气味。最好火葬。神父们死命地反对。[187] 他们这叫吃里扒外。焚尸炉和荷兰铁皮烤肉箱的批发商。闹瘟疫的时期，把尸首扔进生石灰高温坑里去销毁。煤气屠杀室。本是尘埃，还原归于尘埃。[188]要么就海葬。 帕西人的沉默之塔在哪里？被鸟儿啄食。[189]土，火，水。人家说，论舒服莫过于淹死。刹那间自己的一生就从眼前闪过去了。然而一旦被救活可就不妙了。不过，空葬是行不通的。从一架飞行器往下投。每逢丢下一具尸体时，不晓得消息会不会就传开了。地下通讯网。我们还是从它们那儿得到的消息呢。这也不足为奇。它们对于像这样一顿正餐已习以为常。人们还没真正咽气，苍蝇就跟踪而至了。迪格纳穆这次，它们也是闻风而来。它们才不介意那臭味呢。盐白色的尸首，软塌塌，即将溃烂，气味和味道都像是生的白萝卜。 大门在前面发着微光，还敞着哪。重返尘世。这地方已经呆够了。每来一次，都更挨近一步。上回我到这儿来，是给辛尼柯太太[190]送葬。还有可怜的爸爸。致命的爱。我从书中得知，有人夜里提着灯去扒坟头，找新埋葬了的女尸，甚至那些已经腐烂而且流脓的墓疮。读罢使你真感到毛骨悚然。我死后将会在你面前出现。我死了，你会看到我的幽灵。我死后，将阴魂不散。死后有另一个叫作地狱的世界。她信里写道，我不喜欢那另一个世界[191]。我也不喜欢。还有许许多多要看要听要感受的呢。感受到自己身边那热乎乎的生命。让他们在爬满了蛆的床上长眠去吧。他们休想拉我去参加这个回合。热乎乎的床铺，热乎乎的、充满活力的生活。 马丁·坎宁翰从旁边的一条小径里出现了，他正和什么人一本正经地谈着话。 " 那想必是个律师，挺面熟。姓门顿，名叫约翰·亨利，是个律师，经管宣誓书和录口供的专员。迪格纳穆曾在他的事务所里工作过。好久以前了，在马特·狄龙家。快活的马特，欢乐的晚宴。冷冻禽肉，雪茄烟，坦塔罗斯酒柜[192]。马特确实有着一颗金子般的心。对，是门顿。那天傍晚在滚木球的草地上，由于我的球滚进他的内线，他就大发雷霆。纯粹是出于偶然，滚了个偏心球。于是他把我恨之入骨。一见面就引起仇恨。摩莉和芙洛伊·狄龙在一棵丁香树下挽着胳膊笑。男人向来如此，只要有女人在场，就感到耻辱。 咦，他的帽子有一边瘪下去啦，是在马车里碰的吧。 “先生，对不起，”布卢姆先生在他们旁边说。 他们停下了脚步。 “你的帽子瘪下去一点儿，”布卢姆先生边指了指边说。 约翰·亨利·门顿纹丝儿不动，凝视了他片刻。 “那个地方，”马丁·坎宁翰帮着腔，也用手指了指。 约翰·亨利·门顿摘下礼帽，把瘪下去的部分弄鼓起来，细心地用上衣袖子把丝质帽面的绒毛捋了捋，然后又戴上了。 “现在好啦，”马丁·坎宁翰说。 约翰·亨利·门顿点了点头，表示领情。 “谢谢你，”他简短地说。 他们继续朝大门走去。布卢姆先生碰了个钉子，灰溜溜地挨后几步，免得听到他们的谈话。马丁一路指手划脚。他只消用一个小指头就能随心所欲地摆弄那样一个蠢货，而本人毫无察觉。 一双牡蛎般的眼睛。管它呢，以后他一旦明白过来，说不定就会懊悔的。只有这样才能摆布他。 thanks.今天早晨咱们多么了不起啊！