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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 519/821
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Then
you
have
a
beautiful
calm
without
a
cloud
,
smooth
sea
,
placid
,
crew
and
cargo
in
smithereens
,
Davy
Jones
’
locker
,
moon
looking
down
so
peaceful
.
Not
my
fault
,
old
cockalorum
.
A
last
lonely
candle
wandered
up
the
sky
from
Mirus
bazaar
in
search
of
funds
for
Mercer
’
s
hospital
and
broke
,
drooping
,
and
shed
a
cluster
of
violet
but
one
white
stars
.
They
floated
,
fell
:
they
faded
.
The
shepherd
’
s
hour
:
the
hour
of
folding
:
hour
of
tryst
.
From
house
to
house
,
giving
his
everwelcome
double
knock
,
went
the
nine
o
’
clock
postman
,
the
glowworm
’
s
lamp
at
his
belt
gleaming
here
and
there
through
the
laurel
hedges
.
And
among
the
five
young
trees
a
hoisted
lintstock
lit
the
lamp
at
Leahy
’
s
terrace
.
By
screens
of
lighted
windows
,
by
equal
gardens
a
shrill
voice
went
crying
,
wailing
:
Evening
Telegraph
,
stop
press
edition
!
Result
of
the
Gold
Cup
races
!
and
from
the
door
of
Dignam
’
s
house
a
boy
ran
out
and
called
.
Twittering
the
bat
flew
here
,
flew
there
.
Far
out
over
the
sands
the
coming
surf
crept
,
grey
.
Howth
settled
for
slumber
,
tired
of
long
days
,
of
yumyum
rhododendrons
(
he
was
old
)
and
felt
gladly
the
night
breeze
lift
,
ruffle
his
fell
of
ferns
.
He
lay
but
opened
a
red
eye
unsleeping
,
deep
and
slowly
breathing
,
slumberous
but
awake
.
And
far
on
Kish
bank
the
anchored
lightship
twinkled
,
winked
at
Mr
Bloom
.
Life
those
chaps
out
there
must
have
,
stuck
in
the
same
spot
.
Irish
Lights
board
.
Penance
for
their
sins
.
Coastguards
too
.
Rocket
and
breeches
buoy
and
lifeboat
.
Day
we
went
out
for
the
pleasure
cruise
in
the
Erin
’
s
King
,
throwing
them
the
sack
of
old
papers
.
Bears
in
the
zoo
.
Filthy
trip
.
Drunkards
out
to
shake
up
their
livers
.
Puking
overboard
to
feed
the
herrings
.
Nausea
.
And
the
women
,
fear
of
God
in
their
faces
.
Milly
,
no
sign
of
funk
.
Her
blue
scarf
loose
,
laughing
.
Don
’
t
know
what
death
is
at
that
age
.
And
then
their
stomachs
clean
.
But
being
lost
they
fear
.
When
we
hid
behind
the
tree
at
Crumlin
.
I
didn
’
t
want
to
.
Mamma
!
Mamma
!
Babes
in
the
wood
.
Frightening
them
with
masks
too
.
Throwing
them
up
in
the
air
to
catch
them
.
I
’
ll
murder
you
.
Is
it
only
half
fun
?
Or
children
playing
battle
.
Whole
earnest
.
How
can
people
aim
guns
at
each
other
.
Sometimes
they
go
off
.
Poor
kids
!
Only
troubles
wildfire
and
nettlerash
.
Calomel
purge
I
got
her
for
that
.
After
getting
better
asleep
with
Molly
.
Very
same
teeth
she
has
.
What
do
they
love
?
Another
themselves
?
But
the
morning
she
chased
her
with
the
umbrella
.
Perhaps
so
as
not
to
hurt
.
I
felt
her
pulse
.
Ticking
.
Little
hand
it
was
:
now
big
.
Dearest
Papli
.
All
that
the
hand
says
when
you
touch
.
Loved
to
count
my
waistcoat
buttons
.
Her
first
stays
I
remember
.
Made
me
laugh
to
see
.
Little
paps
to
begin
with
.
Left
one
is
more
sensitive
,
I
think
.
Mine
too
.
Nearer
the
heart
?
Padding
themselves
out
if
fat
is
in
fashion
.
Her
growing
pains
at
night
,
calling
,
wakening
me
.
Frightened
she
was
when
her
nature
came
on
her
first
.
Poor
child
!
Strange
moment
for
the
mother
too
.
Brings
back
her
girlhood
.
Gibraltar
.
Looking
from
Buena
Vista
.
O
’
Hara
’
s
tower
.
The
seabirds
screaming
.
Old
Barbary
ape
that
gobbled
all
his
family
.
Sundown
,
gunfire
for
the
men
to
cross
the
lines
.
Looking
out
over
the
sea
she
told
me
.
Evening
like
this
,
but
clear
,
no
clouds
.
I
always
thought
I
’
d
marry
a
lord
or
a
rich
gentleman
coming
with
a
private
yacht
.
Buenas
noches
,
señorita
.
El
hombre
ama
la
muchacha
hermosa
.
Why
me
?
Because
you
were
so
foreign
from
the
others
.
Better
not
stick
here
all
night
like
a
limpet
.
This
weather
makes
you
dull
.
Must
be
getting
on
for
nine
by
the
light
.
Go
home
.
Too
late
for
Leah
,
Lily
of
Killarney
.
No
.
Might
be
still
up
.
Call
to
the
hospital
to
see
.
Hope
she
’
s
over
.
Long
day
I
’
ve
had
.
Martha
,
the
bath
,
funeral
,
house
of
Keyes
,
museum
with
those
goddesses
,
Dedalus
’
song
.
Then
that
bawler
in
Barney
Kiernan
’
s
.
Got
my
own
back
there
.
Drunken
ranters
what
I
said
about
his
God
made
him
wince
.
Mistake
to
hit
back
.
Or
?
No
.
Ought
to
go
home
and
laugh
at
themselves
.
Always
want
to
be
swilling
in
company
.
Afraid
to
be
alone
like
a
child
of
two
.
Suppose
he
hit
me
.
Look
at
it
other
way
round
.
Not
so
bad
then
.
Perhaps
not
to
hurt
he
meant
.
Three
cheers
for
Israel
.
Three
cheers
for
the
sister
-
in
-
law
he
hawked
about
,
three
fangs
in
her
mouth
.
Same
style
of
beauty
.
Particularly
nice
old
party
for
a
cup
of
tea
.
The
sister
of
the
wife
of
the
wild
man
of
Borneo
has
just
come
to
town
.
Imagine
that
in
the
early
morning
at
close
range
.
Everyone
to
his
taste
as
Morris
said
when
he
kissed
the
cow
.
But
Dignam
’
s
put
the
boots
on
it
.
Houses
of
mourning
so
depressing
because
you
never
know
.
Anyhow
she
wants
the
money
.
Must
call
to
those
Scottish
Widows
as
I
promised
.
Strange
name
.
Takes
it
for
granted
we
’
re
going
to
pop
off
first
.
That
widow
on
Monday
was
it
outside
Cramer
’
s
that
looked
at
me
.
Buried
the
poor
husband
but
progressing
favourably
on
the
premium
.
Her
widow
’
s
mite
.
Well
?
What
do
you
expect
her
to
do
?
Must
wheedle
her
way
along
.
Widower
I
hate
to
see
.
Looks
so
forlorn
.
Poor
man
O
’
Connor
wife
and
five
children
poisoned
by
mussels
here
.
The
sewage
.
Hopeless
.
Some
good
matronly
woman
in
a
porkpie
hat
to
mother
him
.
Take
him
in
tow
,
platter
face
and
a
large
apron
.
Ladies
’
grey
flannelette
bloomers
,
three
shillings
a
pair
,
astonishing
bargain
.
Plain
and
loved
,
loved
for
ever
,
they
say
.
Ugly
:
no
woman
thinks
she
is
.
Love
,
lie
and
be
handsome
for
tomorrow
we
die
.
See
him
sometimes
walking
about
trying
to
find
out
who
played
the
trick
.
U
.
p
:
up
.
Fate
that
is
.
He
,
not
me
.
Also
a
shop
often
noticed
.
Curse
seems
to
dog
it
.
Dreamt
last
night
?
Wait
.
Something
confused
.
She
had
red
slippers
on
.
Turkish
.
Wore
the
breeches
.
Suppose
she
does
?
Would
I
like
her
in
pyjamas
?
Damned
hard
to
answer
.
Nannetti
’
s
gone
.
Mailboat
.
Near
Holyhead
by
now
.
Must
nail
that
ad
of
Keyes
’
s
.
Work
Hynes
and
Crawford
.
Petticoats
for
Molly
.
She
has
something
to
put
in
them
.
What
’
s
that
?
Might
be
money
.
Mr
Bloom
stooped
and
turned
over
a
piece
of
paper
on
the
strand
.
He
brought
it
near
his
eyes
and
peered
.
Letter
?
No
.
Can
’
t
read
.
Better
go
.
Better
.
I
’
m
tired
to
move
.
Page
of
an
old
copybook
.
All
those
holes
and
pebbles
.
Who
could
count
them
?
Never
know
what
you
find
.
Bottle
with
story
of
a
treasure
in
it
,
thrown
from
a
wreck
.
Parcels
post
.
Children
always
want
to
throw
things
in
the
sea
.
Trust
?
Bread
cast
on
the
waters
.
What
’
s
this
?
Bit
of
stick
.
O
!
Exhausted
that
female
has
me
.
Not
so
young
now
.
Will
she
come
here
tomorrow
?
Wait
for
her
somewhere
for
ever
.
Must
come
back
.
Murderers
do
.
Will
I
?
