Page 1013 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

—Why, the sailor replied, relaxing to a certain extent
under the magic influence of diamond cut diamond, it
might be a matter of ten years. He toured the wide world
with Hengler’s Royal Circus. I seen him do that in

Stockholm.
—Curious coincidence, Mr Bloom confided to
Stephen unobtrusively.
—Murphy’s my name, the sailor continued. D. B.
Murphy of Carrigaloe. Know where that is?
—Queenstown harbour, Stephen replied.
—That’s right, the sailor said. Fort Camden and Fort
Carlisle. That’s where I hails from. I belongs there. That’s
where I hails from. My little woman’s down there. She’s
waiting for me, I know. For England, home and beauty.
She’s my own true wife I haven’t seen for seven years
now, sailing about.
Mr Bloom could easily picture his advent on this scene,
the homecoming to the mariner’s roadside shieling after
having diddled Davy Jones, a rainy night with a blind
moon. Across the world for a wife. Quite a number of
stories there were on that particular Alice Ben Bolt topic,
Enoch Arden and Rip van Winkle and does anybody
hereabouts remember Caoc O’Leary, a favourite and most
trying declamation piece by the way of poor John Casey

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