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(
The
portly
figure
of
John
O
Connell
,
caretaker
,
stands
forth
,
holding
a
bunch
of
keys
tied
with
crape
.
Beside
him
stands
Father
Coffey
,
chaplain
,
toadbellied
,
wrynecked
,
in
a
surplice
and
bandanna
nightcap
,
holding
sleepily
a
staff
of
twisted
poppies
.
)
FATHER
COFFEY
:
(
Yawns
,
then
chants
with
a
hoarse
croak
.
)
Namine
.
Jacobs
.
Vobiscuits
.
Amen
.
JOHN
O
CONNELL
:
(
Foghorns
stormily
through
his
megaphone
.
)
Dignam
,
Patrick
T
,
deceased
.
Отключить рекламу
PADDY
DIGNAM
:
(
With
pricked
up
ears
,
winces
.
)
Overtones
.
(
He
wriggles
forward
and
places
an
ear
to
the
ground
.
)
My
master
s
voice
!
JOHN
O
CONNELL
:
Burial
docket
letter
number
U
.
P
.
eightyfive
thousand
.
Field
seventeen
.
House
of
Keys
.
Plot
,
one
hundred
and
one
.
(
Paddy
Dignam
listens
with
visible
effort
,
thinking
,
his
tail
stiffpointed
,
his
ears
cocked
.
)
PADDY
DIGNAM
:
Pray
for
the
repose
of
his
soul
.
Отключить рекламу
(
He
worms
down
through
a
coalhole
,
his
brown
habit
trailing
its
tether
over
rattling
pebbles
.
After
him
toddles
an
obese
grandfather
rat
on
fungus
turtle
paws
under
a
grey
carapace
.
Dignam
s
voice
,
muffled
,
is
heard
baying
under
ground
:
Dignam
s
dead
and
gone
below
.
Tom
Rochford
,
robinredbreasted
,
in
cap
and
breeches
,
jumps
from
his
twocolumned
machine
.
)
TOM
ROCHFORD
:
(
A
hand
to
his
breastbone
,
bows
.
)
Reuben
J
.
A
florin
I
find
him
.
(
He
fixes
the
manhole
with
a
resolute
stare
.
)
My
turn
now
on
.
Follow
me
up
to
Carlow
.
(
He
executes
a
daredevil
salmon
leap
in
the
air
and
is
engulfed
in
the
coalhole
.
Two
discs
on
the
columns
wobble
,
eyes
of
nought
.
All
recedes
.
Bloom
plodges
forward
again
through
the
sump
.
Kisses
chirp
amid
the
rifts
of
fog
.
A
piano
sounds
.
He
stands
before
a
lighted
house
,
listening
.
The
kisses
,
winging
from
their
bowers
,
fly
about
him
,
twittering
,
warbling
,
cooing
.
)