Chapter 31 Chapter 16 2

"Do you know how to blow them away?" he asked the group[67]. Not a single squeak.Then he blinked his eyes and said: "Mirrors. That would scare them. Mirrors." Mr Bloom showed no surprise.He just turned over the postcard quietly, making out the blurred part of the address and postmark.Here it is: postal postcard. Mr. A. Pudding, Béchi Veranda, Santiago, Chile. [68] He noticed in particular that there was apparently no word written on the postcard. [69] Although he does not believe in the horrible stories just told (and the egg-shooting, but there is also the story of William Tell, and Lazarillo in "Maritana")[70] incident with Don César de Basan, in which the former's bullet penetrated the latter's hat).He saw through the discrepancy between the sailor's name (assuming he really was who he claimed to be, and not somewhere quietly turning the ship under another flag) and the addressee's name on the postcard, plus The fabricated sending address made him quite suspicious of our friend's honesty[71].However, looking at this postcard, he somehow remembered a plan that had been brewing in his heart for a long time and was going to be realized sooner or later: sailing to London on Wednesday or Saturday.Though he never swam far, he was an adventurer at heart; it was only by a twist of fate that he had never been to sea—unless you count Holyhead as a voyage.It was the farthest trip he had ever traveled in his life.Martin Cunningham used to say he was going to ask Egan to get Bloom a free ticket, but every time things went wrong.Even if the requisite sum were to be paid at once, and to Boyd's heart,[73] it would not be very large, if the pockets were not shy, but two or three guineas at the most; Ringar's round trip was estimated at five shillings and sixpence.Travel is wholesome, and in all respects most comfortable, because the air is clear and fresh.This is especially true for people with liver disease.Along the way you can see Plymouth, Falmouth, Southampton[74] and all kinds of places.The highlight of this educational tour is a sight seeing of the Metropolis, the Babylon of our time.No doubt he would see here again the sprawling towers and churches, the splendor of Park Street.[75]All of a sudden he had another not bad idea: Why not organize a summer tour of recitals, wandering around, including the most famous resorts: the co-ed baths of Magdalene, the first-class mineral and spa treatments and Eastbourne, Scarborough,[77] Margate, etc.; and fine Bournemouth, the Channel Islands,[78] and such small and fine places.Maybe there is a lot of money to be made.The team certainly wasn't some kind of spooky, improvised crew, much less a local showgirl like Mrs. CP McCoy -- lend me your suitcase and I'll send you a free ticket.Nope, but superlatives, Ireland's premier ensemble, featuring Tweedy-Flower's official wife to the head of a large operetta, good enough to compete with Elster Grimes[79] Compare with Moody-Manners [80].It was a simple matter, and he was confident of its success.The key is to have someone who can run the cooking behind the scenes and get the local papers blowing their socks off.In this way, it can be both profitable and full of scenery.However, who will take on this role?Well, here lies the difficulty[81].

In addition, although it is not to the extent of concrete implementation, there is still an idea in his mind: in order to keep pace with the times, we should open up new horizons and open up new routes.A case in point is the Fishguard-Rosslaer route [82].People have said that after being proposed by the Ministry of Communications, due to the cumbersome paperwork of the yamen as usual, it is a fool to follow the rules and fool around, and it is still under repeated deliberation [83].In order to meet the travel needs of ordinary people, this place indeed provides a great opportunity for Brown-Robinson and others to actively develop their businesses.

Just when ordinary citizens really need to strengthen their physical fitness, because they are reluctant to give up two or three pounds, they don't want to see the great world in which they live.This old man has been locked up at home since he married his wife.It's a pity, it's a ridiculous thing to see at first glance, and a lot of this is due to our self-important society, which is really ridiculous anyway.They lived more than eleven months of monotony every year, and after the torments of city life, the summer was supposed to be as complete a change of scene as it wanted.In this season, the goddess of nature is extraordinarily beautifully dressed, and all living things are revived.Those who vacation on their home islands have the same opportunity.There are delightful and rejuvenating woodlands, Dublin and beyond, as well as its picturesque suburbs, are not only charming but also good for health.There is a steam train track laid all the way to Purafuka Falls.And Wicklowna's growing remoteness[84] deserves the title "Irish Gardens"[85].As long as it doesn't rain, the area is ideal for cycling for the elderly, and the Donegal moors, if the rumors are true, are spectacular.However, due to the inaccessibility of this last-mentioned area, although the trip can be very beneficial, after all, the number of tourists visiting is limited and the income is negligible.By contrast, Mount Howth, with the remains of Thomas the Silk Knight, Grace O'Malley and George IV, and rhododendrons that dot hundreds of feet above sea level, makes it a place for people of all ages, rich and poor. where people love to go.It takes only three quarters of an hour to get there by car from Nelson's Column[87].Especially in the spring, the young men were whimsical, deliberately or accidentally stumbled and fell from the top of the cliff, thus paying the toll of death.By the way, usually they always miss the left foot.Of course, since modern sightseeing tours are still in their infancy, there is much room for improvement in equipment.Out of pure and simple curiosity, he guessed with great interest: Is it the traffic that makes the road, or the road that makes the traffic, or the two actually complement each other? He turned over the postcard with the picture and looked at Stephen. hand it over.

"I saw a Chinaman once," said the intrepid narrator, "he had little pills that looked like putty. When he put them in the water, they burst open, each one different, one One becomes a boat, the other a house, and a flower. I'll make you a mouse soup," he added greedily, "the Chinese can even do this." Perhaps seeing the skeptical look on everyone's faces, the globetrotter persistently continued to talk about his adventures. "I was in Trieste and saw a man killed by an Italian. Stabbed in the back. Like this knife." As he spoke, he took out a hideous pocket-knife, which suited his character so well, and swung it in a stabbing stance.

"In a brothel. Two smugglers swindling each other. The guy just hid behind the door and came up behind him. Like this. 'Get ready to see your God!' [88] He said. It stabbed him in the back with a thud, leaving only the handle of the knife exposed." He looked around us sleepily with drooping eyelids.It seems that even if the people here still want to ask something, they will be pushed back by him. "It's good steel," he repeated, looking at the formidable dagger.[89] This monstrous ending[90] is enough to terrify even the most daring.Then, with a snap, he sheathed the knife, and stowed the sharp weapon into his chamber of horrors[91] (that is, his pocket).

"Those guys are unambiguous with their knives," said some apparently ignorant person[92] for the sake of relief, "so since the 'Ever Victory' murder in the park used the It was a knife, and the authorities thought it was done by foreigners." This was heard in the spirit of ignorance to bliss[93], and Mr. Bloom and Stephen, in their own ways, instinctively exchanged meaningful glances at each other, but in a reverent and reticent[94] silence. They then cast their gazes in the direction of the "goat skinner"—that is, the owner of the shop.There he was pouring boiling liquid from a kettle.His enigmatic face was indeed a work of art.It is entirely a subject for research in itself, beyond description.He didn't seem to understand at all what was going on.How funny!

Then there was a long silence.One man reads now and then the coffee-stained evening paper, another looks at the postcard of the Aboriginal shack, and still another the sailor's discharge certificate.As for Mr. Bloom himself, he was brooding.He clearly remembered the incident that was mentioned just now, as if it happened just yesterday.That was twenty years ago. To use a metaphor, it was the year when land disputes swept the civilized world like a storm; it was the early 1980s, to be more precise, 1981, when he was only fifteen years old . "Hey, boss," the sailor broke the silence, "give me back my papers."

The request was complied with, and he held the papers together with his fingertips. "Have you ever seen the Rock of Gibraltar?" asked Mr Bloom. While chewing tobacco, the sailor frowned, showing ambiguity. "Oh, you've been there, too," said Mr. Bloom, "that's the very top of Europe." He thought the Drifter had been, and hoped he might remember something.The other party didn't make him get what he wanted, but just spit into the sawdust and shook his head angrily. "What year was that about?" put in Mr Bloom. "Can you recall any ships?"

Our self-appointed[96] sailor answered after a greedy gulp of tobacco. "I'm so sick of the reefs in the sea," he said, "and all the boats and boats. Corn beef all day long." He looked tired and closed his mouth.Seeing that nothing could be gleaned from the mouth of such a cunning old fellow, the questioner began to wander blankly about the vast waters surrounding the earth.A glance at a map shows that oceans cover three-quarters of the earth.Therefore, he knows exactly what it means to rule the seas.Suffice it to say here.More than once—a dozen times at least—he had noticed a washed-up old sailor near North Bull, Dolimont.Apparently helpless, the man used to sit on the bank of the embankment, close to the sea, which does not necessarily arouse good associations, staring at each other very clearly, dreaming of living forests and fresh pastures[98], Like someone sang somewhere.It made him wonder why the old man did this.Maybe the old man tried to explore the mysteries of the ocean himself[99], so he went from one end of the earth to the other, from the surface of the sea to the bottom of the sea-well, the bottom of the sea is not very accurate-and thus hit luck.In fact, there are absolutely no secrets in it.Nevertheless, the eloquent fact that the sea still exists in splendor cannot be denied, even without careful[100] investigation.There will always be someone who boldly defies God's will and continues sailing.But that only goes to show how often people go out of their way to pass such burdens on to others.For example, the idea of ​​hell, the lottery and insurance are all of the same nature, and for this reason alone the organization of "Lifeboat Sunday" [101] is also to be commended.The general public, whether they live inland or by the sea, should thank the Commissioner of the Water Police and the Coast Guard for their due diligence once they have a clear understanding.For whatever the season, Ireland expects every man to do his part today[102] and so on.Sometimes the weather is bad in winter, and it is necessary to start.They'll have to get someone to manage the cables, and don't forget the Irish lightships, Kish's, and others.There is a possibility of capsizing at any time.Once he sailed around it in a boat with his daughter.Although it can't be said that it is a stormy weather, it has also tasted the taste of violent waves.

"A fellow sailed with me on the Voyager," went on the sailor, who was himself a Voyager, "and he landed and found a comfortable job in the service of dignitaries. Every month Got six quid. I had his breeches on, and he gave me an oilcloth and the jack-knife. Shaving and brushing and stuff like that, and I could do it. I hate going all over the place Adrift. Take my son Danny for now. He ran away to sea once, and his mother got him back and sent him to a cloth farm in Cork to make a living. Make money." "How old is he?" asked one of the listeners.In profile, the man looked a little like Henry Campbell, Secretary of the City Hall,[104] giving the impression that he had just escaped from the toil of the office.Of course he hadn't showered, his clothes were ragged, and his nose was rosy. "Well," said the sailor slowly, as if in some embarrassment, "is my son Danny? I reckon he must be eighteen now?"

So the Skibelin father[105] tore open his gray--or rather dirty-gray shirt--with both hands, and scratched his chest, which was marked with Chinese ink tattoos. An anchor pattern. "There's lice in that bed in Bridgewater," he said, "yes! I've got to take a bath tomorrow and the day after tomorrow. I hate those nigger boys. I hate those rascals. They take your blood It's all sucked dry, that's what they are." Noticing that everyone was looking at his breasts, he readily opened his shirt all the way.Now, on top of the sailor's ancient symbol of hope and peace, the number 16 [106] and the slightly angry profile of a young man were immediately visible. "This is a tattoo," the exhibitor explained to them. "We were sailing under the leadership of Captain Dalton. When we encountered a storm, it was stabbed when the ship was at rest on the surface of Odessa in the Black Sea. A boy named Antonio For me. That's who he is: a Greek." "Doesn't it hurt to do this?" someone asked the sailor. Yet this dude is somehow busy pinching his own skin.Just pinch it between your fingers or... "Look here," he said, showing Antonio, "he's cursing his partner. Now he's doing that again," he added.The same person, who obviously only needs to pull the skin with his fingers with a special knack, has a look of laughing at the strange talk on his face. In fact, the pale young man named Antonio really seemed to have an unnatural smile on his pale face, a strange phenomenon that won the full admiration of everyone present, including "skinning the goat".At this moment, he was leaning over the counter. "Ah, ah," sighed the sailor, looking down at his manly breasts, "he's gone too. Got eaten by a shark. Ay, ah." He let go of the skin, and the pierced side face returned to its original normal expression. "Pretty neat stabbing," said a longshoreman. "What's the number for?" asked the second wanderer. "Was it eaten alive?" asked the third to the sailor. "Ah, ah," the latter sighed again, this time plucking up a little, and smiling for a moment at the person who asked for the number, "he's a Greek." Then he adds, with poignant humor, to his own account of Antonio's death: He's as bad as old Antonio, Leave me alone! [107] A whore in a black straw hat with a gaunt, glazed face poked her head through the door of the coachman's shed and squinted.She was obviously patrolling the wind for herself, and the purpose was nothing more than to make a few more money.Mr Bloom hardly knew where to look.He panicked, but pretended to be calm.Immediately he looked away, and picked up from the table a pink page of the Abbe Street newspaper which had been left behind by a cabman-like figure.[108]He picked up the newspaper and studied the pink color of the pages.But ask yourself why is it pink?He did this because he now recognized standing at the door the same face he had glimpsed on Ormond Quay the previous afternoon.In other words, the half-idiot woman in the alley.She recognizes the lady in brown with you (Mrs. Boo) and asks if there is any laundry for her.Besides, why bring up laundry?This point seems somewhat ambiguous [109]. Your laundry.However, he was frank enough to admit that when he lived in Hollis Street, he had washed his wife's soiled undergarments, and if women really loved a man, they would willingly and hands-on wash those for him. Clothes also initialed in Bewley-Draper[110] Fading Ink (in which hers were written).In other words, if you love me, love even my dirty clothes.But right now he was feeling anxious.Rather than letting this woman accompany him, he would rather have her leave.So when the boss sent her off with a rude gesture, he was genuinely relieved.He glanced over the top of the Evening Telegraph at her face as it appeared by the door.She grinned dully, showing that she was absent-minded.She looked with interest at the crowd watching the sailor's breasts of the captain of the ship, Murphy, and then she disappeared. "A beggar whore," said the boss. "It astonishes me," Mr Bloom whispered to Stephen, "how a rotten bitch like that from a vampire hospital could have the audacity to solicit, medically speaking, when any How can a man with a clear mind, as long as he takes care of his health a little bit, be... an obscene woman! Of course, I guess, the reason why she fell into this state must be caused by some man in the final analysis. However , whatever the reason..." Stephen didn't pay attention to the woman just now, he shrugged and only said this: "There are people in this country who sell far more than she has ever sold, and make a fortune. Don't be afraid of those who sell their bodies and have no strength to buy their souls.[111] She is not good at In business. She buys dear and sells cheap." The older man, though not a spinster or a prude, said that this woman (he was by no means a spinster for that matter) was an unavoidable hazard, but the authorities neither Granting them a license without requiring them to undergo a medical examination is a disgrace and must be corrected immediately[112].To be honest, regarding this issue, as the father of the family[113], I firmly advocated this from the very beginning.He said that whoever formulates such a policy and thoroughly appeals to public opinion will surely benefit all concerned. "You, as a good Catholic," he said, turning the subject to soul and body, "believe in the soul. Or, do you mean intellect and brainpower, etc., as distinct from anything external, say , the table, or the cup? I myself believe this, because well-informed people have explained that it is the gray matter sulcus [114]. Otherwise, we would never have such inventions as the X-ray. .do you think so too?" After being questioned like this, Stephen had to make his memory work harder than ordinary people before expressing his opinion, trying to recall it attentively: "They tell us on the highest authority that the soul is a single substance, and therefore immortal. It would have been, as I understand it, were it not possible to be destroyed by its first cause, which is God. May be immortal. But, so far as I have heard, it is quite probable that the gods will add to his mischief the destruction of souls; and the spontaneous and accidental depravity of the soul has long been excluded by polite decorum. [115]. Although this mystical coup de grace is somewhat too abstruse for the worldly Mr. Bloom, he nevertheless acquiesces completely to the gist of the line of thought.However, he felt obliged to take issue with the word "single".So, he immediately replied: "'Single'[116]? I don't think that's the right word. Of course, I grudgingly admit that one encounters a single soul very occasionally. But what I'm eager to cite is this example: Roentgen's Invented the ray, like Edison, or the telescope; no, I believe it was before him, I mean Galileo. That's a great invention. The same thing applies to something as large as electricity, for example. the laws of a wide range of natural phenomena. But if you believe in the existence of a supernatural God, that's another matter entirely." "Well, this," Stephen cautioned, "has been conclusively proved by some of the best-known passages in the Bible. Circumstantial evidence is aside." But since the two men are as far apart as two poles, educationally or otherwise, coupled with a disparity in age, the views of the two sides clash on this tricky point. "Has it been proven?" retorted the obstinate, more experienced of the two, "I don't quite believe it. It's a matter of debate; the sectarian aspect of it is out of the question. , please allow me to take the diametrically opposed view[117] of yours. Frankly speaking, I believe that most of these bits and pieces are fabricated by the monks. The greatest possibility is to put The big questions were brought up again, such as Bacon's author of Hamlet, and who wrote the plays after all. Of course, you know your Shakespeare far better than I do, so I needn't tell you What's up with you. By the way: can you drink this coffee? I'll stir it for you. Have a piece of sweet bread. It's like a brick that our ship's boss brought in. But no one can get him Nothing at all. Taste a little." "No," Stephen managed to squeeze out these two words, when his mental organs refused to say more. As the old saying goes: it is immoral to find fault.Might as well, Mr. Bloom thought, stir or try to stir the lump of sugar that had congealed in the bottom of the glass.He pondered the Coffee Palace and its sobriety (and lucrative) business with something bordering on bitterness.Its purpose is indeed reasonable and legal, indisputable and beneficial.The coachman's shed in which they were at present was also run on the basis of abstinence, and opened at night for tramps.It is of the same nature as the concerts, theatrical evenings, and salutary lectures (admission is free) given by qualified persons for the lower classes.On the other hand, he recalled clearly and painfully the coffee palace's treatment of his wife Marion back then.How little was paid for Mrs. Tweedy's piano playing, when at one time she had been instrumental in the running of the Coffee Palace.He deeply believes that the purpose of Coffee Palace is to do good and make profits, not to mention that it has no competitors worth mentioning.He remembered reading a report that dry peas in a trattoria somewhere had been dyed with poisonous copper sulphate SO4 [119] or something.But I can't remember the time and place.In any case, it seems that all food must be inspected, and sanitary inspection is the top priority.Dr. Thibyl's "Victorian Cocoa" became a hot commodity, mostly because it came with a medical analysis form. "Take a sip now," he said tentatively after stirring the coffee. Persuaded to give it a try, Stephen gripped the heavy cup by the handle, lifted it from the puddle of brown liquid that had spilled, and took a sip of the unpalatable drink. "Still, it's solid food," advised the man who had a favorable influence on him. "I'm a believer in solid food. I'm not gluttonous at all, for the sole reason that no matter what kind of normal mental or physical Labor, these are indispensable conditions[120]. You should eat more solid food. You will feel like a different person." "I can eat liquid food," said Stephen, "but please move that knife away. I can't stand the point of it. It reminds me of Roman history." Mr. Bloom promptly did as he was instructed, and removed the accused knife.It was an ordinary knife with a blunt point, a horny handle, and most inconspicuously the point, which in the eyes of ordinary people had no particular associations with Roman times or antiquity. "Our mutual friend[122]'s stories are just like his own," Mr. Bloom whispered to his confidant in passing from the knife, "do you think those are true? Spinning up those fantastic tales for hours, full of lies. Look at him!" Despite the lack of sleep and the sea breeze blowing the man's eyes swollen, life is full of horrible events and coincidences.At first glance, his gags and gags are unlikely to be as accurate as the Gospels, but it is also possible that they were not made up from beginning to end. All the while, Bloom was scrutinizing the man in front of him.Bloom had been doing a Sherlock Holmes-like spying on him ever since he had his eye on him.Although this person has been a little rested, he is well-maintained and full of energy; but his expression is a little strange, making one think that he may be a person who has been released from prison after serving his sentence.It doesn't take a lot of brains to connect such a grotesque-looking figure with the tear-off or the treadmill.[123]Maybe it was he who killed that opponent.Assuming he was telling his own case, he talked about it as if it were someone else's.In other words, he killed the man himself, and spent four or five good years in a nasty prison.The character of Antonio (who has nothing to do with the character of the same name described by our national poet[124]) who atones for his sins in the dramatic manner described above, will not be mentioned.On the other hand, he might just be blowing the shit out of there.If so, it would be justifiable, for any old sailor who has ever sailed across the oceans cannot help feeling the urge to meet a true fool, the inhabitants of Dublin, like those coachmen waiting to hear foreign anecdotes. They were bragging about the schooner "Hesperus"[125], and so on.After all, the lies a man tells about himself are probably nothing compared to the great lies that other people tell about him. "Listen, I'm not saying that it's all pure fiction," he went on. "Scenes like that don't happen very often, but they happen occasionally. Giants are extremely rare, rare encounters. And dwarfs Marcella the worker. They're called Aztecs. I've seen a few of them in the wax museum in Henley Street. They sit there with their legs curled up. They can't straighten their legs even if you give them money. , because the tendon here -- you see," he gestured briefly for his partner, "or whatever you want to call it, behind the right knee joint -- isn't working at all. It's all a god Worship, caused by years of sitting with legs curled up like that. Here's another example of a simple soul." Mr. Bloom, however, returned to the terrible adventure of his friend Sinboda. (Sinboda reminded him somewhat of Ludwig - alias Ledwig. Ludwig was a huge success in The Flying Dutchman when Michael Gunn was running the Gay Theater, and admired his The audience flocked, all just to hear his voice. Though ghost ships, ghost ships or not, once on stage, like trains, usually get a little monotonous.) He admitted that the sailor's There is nothing inherently contradictory.Stabbing in the back, on the contrary, was rather Italian.Still, he was willing to admit frankly that Little Italy, near Combe Street, sold all kinds of chips, not to mention ice cream and fried fish, and they didn't drink alcohol. Diligent, frugal people.They may, however, take too much pleasure in catching the benign and harmless cats[129] of other people's clan at night.He or she also copied his or her indispensable[130] garlic, so that the next day people would have a delicious meal with juice without anyone knowing, and said: "It's so cheap." "Take the Spaniards," he went on, "very sentimental, fiend-like, quick to lynch, draw a sharp knife in your belly, and sweep your life away with a swish.[131] All because of the hot climate. My wife is Spanish, that is to say, half Spanish. In fact, she can now take Spanish citizenship if she wants, because she was born in Spain. (As far as the law is concerned), that is, Gibraltar. She is of the Spanish type. She has a fair complexion, her usual black hair, and dark eyes. I do believe that a man's character is determined by climate. That's why I ask, have you ever Wrote poetry in Italian." "Those rambunctious fellows out there," put in Stephen, "got into a rage over ten shillings. Robert stole from him." "That's right," Mr Bloom agreed. "And," said Stephen, looking straight ahead, to himself or to someone listening somewhere, "we have Dante's quick temper and the Portina he fell in love with forming an isosceles triangle." Miss Lee[133], and Leonard[134] and Tommaso Mastino[135]." "It's a blood relationship," went on Mr. Bloom, "everything is washed by the blood of the sun. What a coincidence that just before we met today--if that can be called an encounter--I Just happened to be looking at the ancient statues there at the Kildare Street Museum. The hips, the breasts, they're all in perfect shape. You don't find women like that around here. Maybe here and there, with an occasional exception. Beautiful, yes, You will find she looks good in one point, however I mean the whole body of a woman. Besides that, most of them have no taste in clothes. No matter what anyone says, clothes add a lot to a woman's natural beauty Yes. Wrinkled stockings--that may be my weakness, but that's what I hate the most." However, the interest of the people in the seat began to fade, and others began to chat about accidents at sea, such as boats missing in the fog or hitting icebergs and so on.Of course, the boss of the ship also has its own unique topics.He said: He had circumvented the Cape of Good Hope many times[136], and he also defeated a kind of wind in the China Sea—the monsoon.In all those perils at sea, he said, he had always been protected by one thing (he used or verses similar words): a badge of protection from which he survived. The conversation then turned to the shipwreck[137] of the ship that struck the Reef of Daunt.The wreck was the hapless Norwegian barque—whose name no one could remember for a moment.The sailor who really looked like Henry Campbell finally remembered that the name of the ship was "Valmer", which struck a reef at Boottles Tang Bank, and it became the talk of the whole city. - Albert William Quayle wrote an ingenious and excellent piece on this subject for The Irish Times.Broken waves washed over the hull of the ship, groups of people gathered on the shore, in a state of chaos, each of them stood there in shock.It was also mentioned that on a hot and humid day, the steamer "Lady Cairns" in Swan Harbor was hit and sunk by the oncoming "Mona" on the same route. No one gave them any assistance, and the entire crew died. The captain of the Mona said he feared his ship's buffer bulkheads would collapse.It seems that there is no water in the lower chamber[138]. Then something happened.The sailor left his seat when it was time to sail. "Man, let me come across your bow," he said to the man beside him who was dozing peacefully quietly. He dragged his heavy steps, walked slowly and awkwardly to the door, stepped down the only one step outside the carriage shed, and turned to the left.When he had first risen, Mr. Bloom had noticed that in each of his pockets he had protruded a bottle of that sort of rum that sailors seemed to drink, to be secretly poured into his burning stomach.布卢姆先生瞧见他这会儿正四下里打量，并从兜里掏出一只瓶子，拔开或是拧开塞子，将瓶口对准嘴唇，咕嘟咕嘟地痛饮了一通，津津有味。布卢姆简直克制不住自己了。他机警地怀疑，这个老手兴许是被女人这一对抗物所吸引而出去做了一番军事演习的。然而这时那个女人实际上早已消失得无影无踪了。他定睛一看，才勉强辨认出那个灌了一肚子朗姆酒、精神随之而振的水手，正毋宁说是出神地仰望着环行线的陆桥桥墩和纵梁。当然自从他最后一次踏访，这里已大大地改建，面目一新了。看不见形影的某人或某些人把男子小便池指给他看，那是卫生委员会为了卫生而到处盖起来的。但是，过了一阵短暂的寂静之后，显然是对小便池敬而远之的水手，竟就近方便起来。他那泡舱底污水撒了好一阵子，看来迸溅到地上的声音随即惊醒了拴在那排待雇马车中一辆车上的一匹马[139] 。 醒过来后，一只马蹄好歹找到新的立足点，挽具丁零当啷直响。岗亭里，跟前正燃着一盆焦炭的那位市政府守夜人被吵着了。他衰弱已极，眼看就要垮了。他不是别人，原来就是前面曾提到过的冈穆利。如今他实际上是靠教区的救济金过日子。过去认识他的帕特·托宾[140]，十之八九是出于人道的动机，安排他在这儿当上个临时工。他在岗亭里翻来复去，来回改变姿势，最后才把四肢安顿在睡神的怀抱之中。他现在的境遇无比恶劣，真是令人惊异。他本有着最体面的亲戚，生来习惯于优裕舒适的家庭环境，一度曾挣过一百英镑年薪。当然喽，这个双料傻瓜竟把钱挥霍殆尽。多次狂欢作乐，如今是穷途末路，一文不名了。不用说，他是个酒徒，假若--不过，这可是个大大的“假若”--他能设法戒掉这一特殊嗜好的话，他蛮可以在一项巨大事业上获得成功呢。这又是一个教训。 这当儿，在座的人们都高声为爱尔兰海运业的一蹶不振而表示痛惜。不论沿岸航线还是外国航线都一样，二者是一而二，二而一。帕尔格雷夫- 墨菲的一艘船从亚历山德拉船坞的下水台被送了出去，而那是今年唯一新造的船[141]。果不其然，港口比比皆是，遗憾的是入港的船却一艘也没有。 老板说，这是由于船接连失事的关系。他显然是个知情人[142] 。 他所要弄清楚的是：为什么那艘船竟撞在戈尔韦湾内唯一的岩礁上了呢？而一个姓沃辛顿[143]还是什么的先生，不是刚刚提出戈尔韦港计划吗？他建议他们去问一下那艘船的船长--利弗航线的约翰。利弗船长[144] ，为了那天的工作，英国政府究竟给了他多少贿赂。 “我说得对吗，船老大？”他向那个悄悄地喝了一通，并另外干了点什么之后正走回来的水手问道。 那位大人物正把传入耳中那歌词的只言片语荒腔走调地低吼成水手起锚的调调。虽然整个旋律的音程都偏离了一两个音，可劲头却来得十足。布卢姆先生耳朵尖，此刻听见他好像正在把板烟（确实是板烟）吐出去。那么，当他喝酒啦解小手啦的时候，想必是把它攥在手心里的。灌下那流质火焰后，嘴里有点发酸。不管怎样，他总算成功地放水兼[145]注水了一通，然后又滚了进来，把酒宴的气氛带到夜会中，像个真正的船上厨师[146]的儿子那样吵吵闹闹地唱道： 饼干硬得赛黄铜， 牛肉咸得像罗得老婆的屁股。 哦，约翰尼·利弗！ 约翰尼·利弗，哦！ 为此感叹了一番之后，这位不容轻视的人物就登场了，回到自己的席位，与其说是坐，毋宁说是重重地沉落到为自己安排的坐位上。 “剥山羊皮”——假定就是那位老板——显然是别有用心。他以色厉内荏的申斥口吻，就爱尔兰的天然资源问题什么的，发泄了一通牢骚。他在一席冗长的论说中描述爱尔兰是天主的地球上无与伦比的富饶国家，远远超过英国，煤炭产量丰富，每年出口的猪肉价值六百万英镑，黄油和鸡蛋则共达一千万英镑。但是英国却向爱尔兰的穷苦人民横征暴敛，强迫他们付出惊人的巨款，并把市场上最好的肉掠夺一空。另外还说了不少诸如此类夸张的话。[147]接着，他们的谈话就转到一般的话题上，大家一致同意这是事实。“任何东西都能在爱尔兰的土壤里生长出来，”他说，“在纳文[148]”，埃弗拉德上校还栽培出烟草来呢。难道在任何地方能找到比得上爱尔兰所产的熏猪肉吗？但是靠犯罪行为取得的不义之财不论多么庞大，”他用渐强音[149] 蛮有把握地说——并垄断了座中的谈话——“强大的英国总有一天必然会遭到报应。破灭的日子终会到来，而且那将是有史以来最大的破灭。他断言德国人和日本佬也会俟机而动[ 150]。布尔人造成了结局的开端[151] 。英国徒有其表，已经摇摇欲坠了，最后会崩溃在爱尔兰手里。爱尔兰将是它的'阿戏留的脚踵'。”他又就希腊英雄阿戏留那易受伤害的部位为他们做了一番解释[152]。由于他隔着靴子指了指腱在哪儿，就完全吸引了听众的注意，从而大家也立即恍然大悟了。他奉劝每个爱尔兰人说：留在你出生的地方，为爱尔兰而工作，为爱尔兰而生活。巴涅尔说过：爱尔兰连她的一个儿子也舍不得撒手。 周围的沉默标志着他的终曲。那位冷漠的航海者听了这些悲惨的信息，泰然自若。 “可没那么容易呀，”方才这番老生常谈显然多少惹恼了这位粗鲁朴直的汉子，他就回了这么一句。 老板被泼了一盆冷水，在崩溃等等问题上让了步，但依然坚持他的基本见解。 “陆军里最优秀的部队是哪几支？”头发灰白的老兵愤愤地问道，“跳得最高最远和跑得最快的呢？还有最优秀的海军上将和陆军上将呢？告诉俺呀。” “要选就选爱尔兰人呗，”除了脸上的一些缺点，长得挺像坎贝尔的马车夫说。 “说得对，”老水手证实道，“笃信天主教的爱尔兰农民。那是咱们帝国的栋梁。你认识吉姆·马林斯[153] 吗？” 老板像对每一个人一样，随他去发表个人的意见，然而他又补充说，他对任何帝国都毫无好感，不管是我们的也罢，他的也罢。他并且还认为，没有一个为帝国服务的爱尔兰人不是吃白饭的。接着他们又恶语相加，火气越来越大。不消说，双方都争取听众站在自己这一边。但是只要他们两个人还没有互骂，以致大打出手，听者就都只是饶有兴味地观望这场舌战而已。 根据经年累月的内幕消息，布卢姆先生颇倾向于把上述见解看作是荒谬透顶的胡言乱语，嗤之以鼻；因为姑且不论他是否衷心企盼那样一种结局[154] ，对这一事实他总是了如指掌：除非海峡对岸的那些邻人远比他所设想的还要愚蠢，否则与其认为他们在显示实力，毋宁说是藏而不露。这种见解就跟一部分人所持的那种再过一亿年，爱尔兰岛的姊妹岛不列颠岛的煤层就将被挖掘一空这一堂吉诃德式的看法如出一辙。随着时间的推移，即便形势的发展果如所料，关于这个问题他个人至多也只能说：在这之前会接连发生无数偶然事件，对于引发这一结局将同样有着关连；尽管两国之间的分歧大得简直是南辕北辙，眼下总还是以竭力相互利用为宜。另外一个有趣的小问题（打个通俗的比方，犹如妓女和扫烟囱小伙子相好）就是爱尔兰兵替英国打仗的次数和与英国敌对的次数一样多，老实说，前者还更多一些。事到如今，又何苦来呢？这两个人，一方领有特准卖酒的执照，据传说是（或曾经是）有名的“常胜军”菲茨哈里斯；另一方显而易见是个冒牌货。双方的这场吵闹，尽管旁人丝毫并未察觉其中的花招，然而他作为一名旁观者，又身为人类心理的研究家，不由得强烈地感到，如果这是预先安排好的话，那就与好计没有什么两样了。至于这个承租人也罢，店老板也罢，多半压根儿就不是另外那个人[155]，他（布卢姆）理所当然地不禁感到，除非你是个地地道道的头号大笨蛋，否则就绝不要去理睬这号人。在私生活中订下一条金科玉律，绝不跟他们打任何交道，更不要牵涉到其阴谋诡计中去。因为总会有偶尔冒出个达尼曼[156] 前来行骗的可能性，像丹尼斯或彼得·凯里[157]那样，在女王——不，现在是国王——的法庭上供出对同犯不利的证据。这种事单是想想就令人厌恶。此外，他从原则上就讨厌那种为非作歹、罪恶累累的生涯。犯罪倾向从来不曾以任何形状或形式在他内心里萌生过（尽管仍不改初衷），然而对这个基于政治信念，真正拿出勇气举刀——白晃晃的刀——的人，他的确还是怀着一腔敬慕之情，但是就他个人而言，他是决不愿意参与进去的，这跟他不愿意被卷进南国那种由于情爱而引起的族间仇杀案中去是一样的。要么拥有她，要么就为她而上绞架——这种时候，通常都是丈夫为了妻子跟那个幸运男子之间的关系（丈夫曾派人监视那两个人的行动），跟她争吵了几句。他所膜拜的人儿竟在婚后与人私通[158] ，结果，他用刀子把她砍伤致死。这时他忽然想起绰号“剥山羊皮”的菲茨，只不过曾经替伤害事件的真凶赶过一辆马车而已。倘若他所听到的话属实，菲茨并没有实际参加那场伏击。事实上，司法界一位权威就是这么替他辩护的，从而救了他一命。不管怎样，而今这已成了古老的故事，至于我们这位冒牌的“什么皮”，显然活得太长，早已不再为世人所垂青了。他本该寿终正寝，或者上高高的绞刑架[159]呢。就像女演员一样，老说这是告别演出——绝对是最后一场——接着又笑眯眯地重新登台。这当然是天性喽，落落大方得过了头，完全不懂得节制什么的，总是扑过去咬骨头影儿[160] 。同样地，他极其机敏地猜到约翰尼·利弗在码头一带徘徊的时候，想必在“老爱尔兰”酒店的融洽气氛下唱起《回到爱琳来》等曲调，散了些财。至于另外一些人，不久之前他还曾听见其中的一个说起那句隐语来着，他告诉斯蒂芬，自己是怎样简捷而有效地让那个出口不逊的人闭上嘴巴。 “那傢伙不知怎么一来被惹恼了，”这位感情上虽受了严重伤害，但大体上性情还是那么平和的先生说，“是我说走了嘴，他喊我作犹太佬，口气激烈，态度傲慢无礼。于是，我就丝毫也没有背离事实，率直地告诉他说，他的天主，我指的是基督，也是个犹太人。他一家子都是，就跟我一样，其实我并不是。这话可把他难住了。温和的回答平息怒气[ 161] 。人人都看到，这么一来堵得他哑口无言。我说得对吧？” 关于自己口气温和地提出责难一事，他暗自怯生生地感到骄傲，把视线转到斯蒂芬身上，凝视了他好半晌。似乎表示：你的看法才错了呢。他的目光又包含着恳求，因为他觉得那也并不尽然。 “他们是族长们的子孙，”斯蒂芬用模棱两可的的腔调说，他们的两只或四只眼睛相互望着，“按照身世说，基督也罢，叫布卢姆也罢，或是不论叫什么名字，跟他们同族。[162]” “当然喽，”布卢姆先生开始把话挑明了，“你得看问题的两面。关于善与恶，很难规定出严格而绝对的标准，各个方面的确有改良的余地。不过，人们说，每一个国家都有它该有的政府[163]包括咱们这个饱经忧患的国家[164]。但是在各方面多拿出点善意来该有多好。相互炫耀各自的优越性固然很好，可是谈不谈相互平等呢？对于任何形式或方式的暴力或不宽容，我都一概憎恨。那样做什么目的也达不到，什么反抗也阻止不了。革命必须按照预定计划分几个阶段进行。说起来，只因为有些人住在旁处并且操另一种语言就憎恨他们，那真是荒谬透顶。” “值得纪念的血泊桥[165] 之战和七分钟战役[166] ，斯蒂芬支持他的看法，“斯金纳巷子为一方，奥蒙德市场[167] 为另一方。 " “是呀，”布卢姆先生表示完全赞成。他毫无保留地同意此话，认为讲得千真万确，而世界上到处都充满了这样的事。 “你把已经到我嘴边的话全给说出去啦，”他说，“彼此举出互不相容的证据，一片胡言乱语。老实说，闹得你几乎不可能……” 据他的愚见，所有那些会激起敌意的无聊的争吵都意味着代表斗志的乳突[168]或某种内分泌腺在作怪。人们错误地以为这就是为名誉啦国旗之类的细枝末节——其实，闹的主要是隐在一切事物背后的金钱问题：也就是贪婪与妒忌，人们永远也不懂得及时善罢甘休。 “他们把一切都归罪于……”他不禁说出声来。 他掉过身去，因为他们很可能……于是挨近了些，好不让其他人……万一他们…… “犹太人，”他像是道着旁白般地小声对斯蒂芬说，“被指控造成了毁灭。我有充分把握说，这完全不符合事实。历史——你听了这话，会不会吃惊呢？—— 彻底证明了当宗教法庭把犹太人从西班牙驱逐出境之后[169] ，那个国家就衰落了。而克伦威尔这个极其精明强干的恶棍，尽管在其他方面有不少过失，但当他让犹太人入境之后，英国就繁荣起来了[170] 。这是怎么回事呢？因为他们讲求实际，而且这一点已经得到了检验。我不愿意放开来谈……因为你读过关于这个问题的权威之作，况且你是个正统派……撇开宗教不谈，仅就经济领域而言，神父总是招致贫困。再说到西班牙。你已经从那场战争[170] 中看到了，并且跟充满活力的美国作了比较。至于土耳其人，那就是教义的问题啦。因为倘若不是相信死后能够直接升天堂的话，他们就更会惜命了——至少我是这么看。这是教区神父耍的花招，以便假借名义来筹款。反正我，”他怀着充满戏剧性的激情说，“就跟开头我告诉过你的那个鲁莽汉子一样，是个地地道道的爱尔兰人，而且我巴望看到每一个人，”他下结论道，“不分宗教信仰和阶级，都相应地[172] 拥有可观的收入，能够过得舒舒服服——而且不能小里小气地，每年的进项总在三百英镑左右吧。这是个关键问题，而且不难办到，那样就可以促使人与人之间更友好地往来。不管对不对，反正这就是我对爱国的看法。咱们在母校[173]上古典课的时候，不是一知半解地学过点儿吗？祖国所在地，日子过得好。[174] 意思是说，只要你工作，就能在那儿过上好日子。”