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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 10/821
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—
Yes
?
Buck
Mulligan
said
.
What
did
I
say
?
I
forget
.
—
You
said
,
Stephen
answered
,
O
,
it
’
s
only
Dedalus
whose
mother
is
beastly
dead
.
A
flush
which
made
him
seem
younger
and
more
engaging
rose
to
Buck
Mulligan
’
s
cheek
.
—
Did
I
say
that
?
he
asked
.
Well
?
What
harm
is
that
?
He
shook
his
constraint
from
him
nervously
.
—
And
what
is
death
,
he
asked
,
your
mother
’
s
or
yours
or
my
own
?
You
saw
only
your
mother
die
.
I
see
them
pop
off
every
day
in
the
Mater
and
Richmond
and
cut
up
into
tripes
in
the
dissectingroom
.
It
’
s
a
beastly
thing
and
nothing
else
.
It
simply
doesn
’
t
matter
.
You
wouldn
’
t
kneel
down
to
pray
for
your
mother
on
her
deathbed
when
she
asked
you
.
Why
?
Because
you
have
the
cursed
jesuit
strain
in
you
,
only
it
’
s
injected
the
wrong
way
.
To
me
it
’
s
all
a
mockery
and
beastly
.
Her
cerebral
lobes
are
not
functioning
.
She
calls
the
doctor
sir
Peter
Teazle
and
picks
buttercups
off
the
quilt
.
Humour
her
till
it
’
s
over
.
You
crossed
her
last
wish
in
death
and
yet
you
sulk
with
me
because
I
don
’
t
whinge
like
some
hired
mute
from
Lalouette
’
s
.
Absurd
!
I
suppose
I
did
say
it
.
I
didn
’
t
mean
to
offend
the
memory
of
your
mother
.
He
had
spoken
himself
into
boldness
.
Stephen
,
shielding
the
gaping
wounds
which
the
words
had
left
in
his
heart
,
said
very
coldly
:
—
I
am
not
thinking
of
the
offence
to
my
mother
.
—
Of
what
then
?
Buck
Mulligan
asked
.
—
Of
the
offence
to
me
,
Stephen
answered
.
