Page 925 - ULYSSES

Ulysses

Poulaphouca Poulaphouca
Poulaphouca Poulaphouca.

THE YEWS: (Mingling their boughs) Listen. Whisper. She is
right, our sister. We grew by Poulaphouca waterfall. We
gave shade on languorous summer days.
JOHN WYSE NOLAN: (In the background, in Irish
National Forester’s uniform, doffs his plumed hat) Prosper!
Give shade on languorous days, trees of Ireland!
THE YEWS: (Murmuring) Who came to Poulaphouca
with the High School excursion? Who left his nutquesting
classmates to seek our shade?
BLOOM: (Scared) High School of Poula? Mnemo? Not
in full possession of faculties. Concussion. Run over by

tram.
THE ECHO: Sham!
BLOOM: (Pigeonbreasted, bottleshouldered, padded, in
nondescript juvenile grey and black striped suit, too small for him,
white tennis shoes, bordered stockings with turnover tops and a
red schoolcap with badge) I was in my teens, a growing boy.
A little then sufficed, a jolting car, the mingling odours of
the ladies’ cloakroom and lavatory, the throng penned
tight on the old Royal stairs (for they love crushes, instinct
of the herd, and the dark sexsmelling theatre unbridles
vice), even a pricelist of their hosiery. And then the heat.

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