Page 799 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

RUDOLPH: Once! Mud head to foot. Cut your hand
open. Lockjaw. They make you kaputt, Leopoldleben.
You watch them chaps.
BLOOM: (Weakly) They challenged me to a sprint. It

was muddy. I slipped.
RUDOLPH: (With contempt) Goim nachez! Nice
spectacles for your poor mother!
BLOOM: Mamma!
ELLEN BLOOM: (In pantomime dame’s stringed mobcap,
widow Twankey’s crinoline and bustle, blouse with muttonleg
sleeves buttoned behind, grey mittens and cameo brooch, her
plaited hair in a crispine net, appears over the staircase banisters,
a slanted candlestick in her hand, and cries out in shrill alarm) O
blessed Redeemer, what have they done to him! My
smelling salts! (She hauls up a reef of skirt and ransacks the
pouch of her striped blay petticoat. A phial, an Agnus Dei, a
shrivelled potato and a celluloid doll fall out) Sacred Heart of
Mary, where were you at all at all?
(Bloom, mumbling, his eyes downcast, begins to bestow his
parcels in his filled pockets but desists, muttering.)
A VOICE: (Sharply) Poldy!
BLOOM: Who? (He ducks and wards off a blow clumsily)
At your service.

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