Page 842 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

ZOE: You both in black. Has little mousey any tickles
tonight?
(His skin, alert, feels her fingertips approach. A hand glides

over his left thigh.)
ZOE: How’s the nuts?
BLOOM: Off side. Curiously they are on the right.
Heavier, I suppose. One in a million my tailor, Mesias,
says.
ZOE: (In sudden alarm) You’ve a hard chancre.
BLOOM: Not likely.
ZOE: I feel it.
(Her hand slides into his left trouser pocket and brings out a
hard black shrivelled potato. She regards it and Bloom with dumb
moist lips.)
BLOOM: A talisman. Heirloom.
ZOE: For Zoe? For keeps? For being so nice, eh?
(She puts the potato greedily into a pocket then links his arm,
cuddling him with supple warmth. He smiles uneasily. Slowly,
note by note, oriental music is played. He gazes in the tawny
crystal of her eyes, ringed with kohol. His smile softens.)
ZOE: You’ll know me the next time.
BLOOM: (Forlornly) I never loved a dear gazelle but it
was sure to ...

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