Page 199 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

some law to pierce the heart and make sure or an electric
clock or a telephone in the coffin and some kind of a
canvas airhole. Flag of distress. Three days. Rather long to
keep them in summer. Just as well to get shut of them as

soon as you are sure there’s no.
The clay fell softer. Begin to be forgotten. Out of sight,
out of mind.
The caretaker moved away a few paces and put on his
hat. Had enough of it. The mourners took heart of grace,
one by one, covering themselves without show. Mr
Bloom put on his hat and saw the portly figure make its
way deftly through the maze of graves. Quietly, sure of his
ground, he traversed the dismal fields.
Hynes jotting down something in his notebook. Ah,
the names. But he knows them all. No: coming to me.
—I am just taking the names, Hynes said below his
breath. What is your christian name? I’m not sure.
—L, Mr Bloom said. Leopold. And you might put
down M’Coy’s name too. He asked me to.
—Charley, Hynes said writing. I know. He was on the
Freeman once.
So he was before he got the job in the morgue under
Louis Byrne. Good idea a postmortem for doctors. Find
out what they imagine they know. He died of a Tuesday.

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