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- Джеймс Джойс
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Buck
Mulligan
frowned
at
the
lather
on
his
razorblade
.
He
hopped
down
from
his
perch
and
began
to
search
his
trouser
pockets
hastily
.
—
Scutter
!
he
cried
thickly
.
He
came
over
to
the
gunrest
and
,
thrusting
a
hand
into
Stephen
’
s
upper
pocket
,
said
:
—
Lend
us
a
loan
of
your
noserag
to
wipe
my
razor
.
Stephen
suffered
him
to
pull
out
and
hold
up
on
show
by
its
corner
a
dirty
crumpled
handkerchief
.
Buck
Mulligan
wiped
the
razorblade
neatly
.
Then
,
gazing
over
the
handkerchief
,
he
said
:
—
The
bard
’
s
noserag
!
A
new
art
colour
for
our
Irish
poets
:
snotgreen
.
You
can
almost
taste
it
,
can
’
t
you
?
He
mounted
to
the
parapet
again
and
gazed
out
over
Dublin
bay
,
his
fair
oakpale
hair
stirring
slightly
.
—
God
!
he
said
quietly
.
Isn
’
t
the
sea
what
Algy
calls
it
:
a
great
sweet
mother
?
The
snotgreen
sea
.
The
scrotumtightening
sea
.
Epi
oinopa
ponton
.
Ah
,
Dedalus
,
the
Greeks
!
I
must
teach
you
.
You
must
read
them
in
the
original
.
Thalatta
!
Thalatta
!
She
is
our
great
sweet
mother
.
Come
and
look
.
Stephen
stood
up
and
went
over
to
the
parapet
.
Leaning
on
it
he
looked
down
on
the
water
and
on
the
mailboat
clearing
the
harbourmouth
of
Kingstown
.
—
Our
mighty
mother
!
Buck
Mulligan
said
.
