Page 50 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

so: imps of fancy of the Moors. Gone too from the world,
Averroes and Moses Maimonides, dark men in mien and
movement, flashing in their mocking mirrors the obscure
soul of the world, a darkness shining in brightness which

brightness could not comprehend.
—Do you understand now? Can you work the second
for yourself?
—Yes, sir.
In long shaky strokes Sargent copied the data. Waiting
always for a word of help his hand moved faithfully the
unsteady symbols, a faint hue of shame flickering behind
his dull skin. Amor matris: subjective and objective
genitive. With her weak blood and wheysour milk she had
fed him and hid from sight of others his swaddling bands.
Like him was I, these sloping shoulders, this
gracelessness. My childhood bends beside me. Too far for
me to lay a hand there once or lightly. Mine is far and his
secret as our eyes. Secrets, silent, stony sit in the dark
palaces of both our hearts: secrets weary of their tyranny:
tyrants, willing to be dethroned.
The sum was done.
—It is very simple, Stephen said as he stood up.
—Yes, sir. Thanks, Sargent answered.

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