Page 895 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

VIRAG: (A diabolic rictus of black luminosity contracting his
visage, cranes his scraggy neck forward. He lifts a mooncalf nozzle
and howls.) Verfluchte Goim! He had a father, forty fathers.

He never existed. Pig God! He had two left feet. He was
Judas Iacchia, a Libyan eunuch, the pope’s bastard. (He
leans out on tortured forepaws, elbows bent rigid, his eye
agonising in his flat skullneck and yelps over the mute world) A
son of a whore. Apocalypse.
KITTY: And Mary Shortall that was in the lock with
the pox she got from Jimmy Pidgeon in the blue caps had
a child off him that couldn’t swallow and was smothered
with the convulsions in the mattress and we all subscribed
for the funeral.
PHILIP DRUNK: (Gravely) Qui vous a mis dans cette
fichue position, Philippe?
PHILIP SOBER: (Gaily) c’était le sacré pigeon, Philippe.
(Kitty unpins her hat and sets it down calmly, patting her
henna hair. And a prettier, a daintier head of winsome curls was
never seen on a whore’s shoulders. Lynch puts on her hat. She
whips it off.)
LYNCH: (Laughs) And to such delights has
Metchnikoff inoculated anthropoid apes.
FLORRY: (Nods) Locomotor ataxy.
ZOE: (Gaily) O, my dictionary.

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