Page 695 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

among the five young trees a hoisted lintstock lit the lamp
at Leahy’s terrace. By screens of lighted windows, by equal
gardens a shrill voice went crying, wailing: Evening

Telegraph, stop press edition! Result of the Gold Cup race! and
from the door of Dignam’s house a boy ran out and called.
Twittering the bat flew here, flew there. Far out over the
sands the coming surf crept, grey. Howth settled for
slumber, tired of long days, of yumyum rhododendrons
(he was old) and felt gladly the night breeze lift, ruffle his
fell of ferns. He lay but opened a red eye unsleeping, deep
and slowly breathing, slumberous but awake. And far on
Kish bank the anchored lightship twinkled, winked at Mr
Bloom.
Life those chaps out there must have, stuck in the same
spot. Irish Lights board. Penance for their sins.
Coastguards too. Rocket and breeches buoy and lifeboat.
Day we went out for the pleasure cruise in the Erin’s
King, throwing them the sack of old papers. Bears in the
zoo. Filthy trip. Drunkards out to shake up their livers.
Puking overboard to feed the herrings. Nausea. And the
women, fear of God in their faces. Milly, no sign of funk.
Her blue scarf loose, laughing. Don’t know what death is
at that age. And then their stomachs clean. But being lost
they fear. When we hid behind the tree at Crumlin. I

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