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- Джеймс Джойс
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- Стр. 579/821
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BLOOM
:
(
Forlornly
.
)
I
never
loved
a
dear
gazelle
but
it
was
sure
to
.
.
.
(
Gazelles
are
leaping
,
feeding
on
the
mountains
.
Near
are
lakes
.
Round
their
shores
file
shadows
black
of
cedargroves
.
Aroma
rises
,
a
strong
hairgrowth
of
resin
.
It
burns
,
the
orient
,
a
sky
of
sapphire
,
cleft
by
the
bronze
flight
of
eagles
.
Under
it
lies
the
womancity
,
nude
,
white
,
still
,
cool
,
in
luxury
.
A
fountain
murmurs
among
damask
roses
.
Mammoth
roses
murmur
of
scarlet
winegrapes
.
A
wine
of
shame
,
lust
,
blood
exudes
,
strangely
murmuring
.
)
ZOE
:
(
Murmuring
singsong
with
the
music
,
her
odalisk
lips
lusciously
smeared
with
salve
of
swinefat
and
rosewater
.
)
Schorach
ani
wenowach
,
benoith
Hierushaloim
.
BLOOM
:
(
Fascinated
.
)
I
thought
you
were
of
good
stock
by
your
accent
.
ZOE
:
And
you
know
what
thought
did
?
(
She
bites
his
ear
gently
with
little
goldstopped
teeth
,
sending
on
him
a
cloying
breath
of
stale
garlic
.
The
roses
draw
apart
,
disclose
a
sepulchre
of
the
gold
of
kings
and
their
mouldering
bones
.
)
BLOOM
:
(
Draws
back
,
mechanically
caressing
her
right
bub
with
a
flat
awkward
hand
.
)
Are
you
a
Dublin
girl
?
ZOE
:
(
Catches
a
stray
hair
deftly
and
twists
it
to
her
coil
.
)
No
bloody
fear
.
I
’
m
English
.
Have
you
a
swaggerroot
?
BLOOM
:
(
As
before
.
)
Rarely
smoke
,
dear
.
Cigar
now
and
then
.
Childish
device
.
(
Lewdly
.
)
The
mouth
can
be
better
engaged
than
with
a
cylinder
of
rank
weed
.
