12am on into Nighttown
" The Mabbot street entrance of nighttown, before which stretches an uncobbled tramsiding set with skeleton tracks, red and green will-o-the wisps and danger signals. Rows of flimsy houses with gaping doors. Rare lamps with faint rainbow fans."
Nightown along the way
"( the famished shuggletusks of an elderly bawd protrude from the doorway ) THE BAWD: (Her voice whispering huskily) Sst ! Come here till I tell you. Maidenhead inside. Sst. STEPHEN: ( Altius aliquantulam ) Et omnes adquos pervenit aqua ista. ___________________________________
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( A sinister figure leans on plaited legs
against O'Beirne's wall, a vsiage unknown, injected with dark mercury. From
under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with evil eye.)
BLOOM:
Buenas noches, seniorita Bianca, que calle es esta?
THE FIGURE:
(Impassive, raises a signal arm) Password. Sraid Mabbot.
BLOOM: Haha. Merci.
Esperanto. Slan leath. (He mutters) Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater(He steps forward. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. He steps left, ragsackman left.)
BLOOM: I beg. (He swerves, sidlestepsaside, slips past and on.)
BLOOM: Keep to the right, right, right. If there is a fingerpost planted by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procure that public boon? I who lost my way and contributed to the columns of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed, In darkest Stepaside. Keep, keep, keep to the right. Rags and bones, at midnight. A fence more likely. First place murderer makes for. Wash off his sins of the world. (Jacky Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey, runs full tilt against Bloom.)
BLOOM: 0! (Shocked, on weak hams, he halts. Tommy and Jacky vanish there, there. Bloom pats with parcelled hands watch, fobpocket, bookpocket, pursepocket, sweets of sin, potato soap.)
BLOOM: Beware of pickpockets. old thieves' dodge. Collide. Then snatch your purse.
(The retriever approaches sniffling, nose to the ground. A sprawled form sneezes. A stooped bearded figure appeals garbed in the long caftan of an elder in Zion and a smoking cap with magenta tassels. Horned spectacles hang down at the wings of the nose. Yellow poison streaks are on the drawn face.)
RUDOLPH: Second halfcrown waste money today. I told you not go with drunken goy ever. So. You catch no Money.
BLOOM: (Hides the crubeen and trotter behind his back and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat)
ja, ich weiss, papachi."
against O'Beirne's wall, a vsiage unknown, injected with dark mercury. From
under a wideleaved sombrero the figure regards him with evil eye.)
BLOOM:
Buenas noches, seniorita Bianca, que calle es esta?
THE FIGURE:
(Impassive, raises a signal arm) Password. Sraid Mabbot.
BLOOM: Haha. Merci.
Esperanto. Slan leath. (He mutters) Gaelic league spy, sent by that fireeater(He steps forward. A sackshouldered ragman bars his path. He steps left, ragsackman left.)
BLOOM: I beg. (He swerves, sidlestepsaside, slips past and on.)
BLOOM: Keep to the right, right, right. If there is a fingerpost planted by the Touring Club at Stepaside who procure that public boon? I who lost my way and contributed to the columns of the Irish Cyclist the letter headed, In darkest Stepaside. Keep, keep, keep to the right. Rags and bones, at midnight. A fence more likely. First place murderer makes for. Wash off his sins of the world. (Jacky Caffrey, hunted by Tommy Caffrey, runs full tilt against Bloom.)
BLOOM: 0! (Shocked, on weak hams, he halts. Tommy and Jacky vanish there, there. Bloom pats with parcelled hands watch, fobpocket, bookpocket, pursepocket, sweets of sin, potato soap.)
BLOOM: Beware of pickpockets. old thieves' dodge. Collide. Then snatch your purse.
(The retriever approaches sniffling, nose to the ground. A sprawled form sneezes. A stooped bearded figure appeals garbed in the long caftan of an elder in Zion and a smoking cap with magenta tassels. Horned spectacles hang down at the wings of the nose. Yellow poison streaks are on the drawn face.)
RUDOLPH: Second halfcrown waste money today. I told you not go with drunken goy ever. So. You catch no Money.
BLOOM: (Hides the crubeen and trotter behind his back and, crestfallen, feels warm and cold feetmeat)
ja, ich weiss, papachi."
The Shrine of Aphrodite, Godess of Love
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