尤利西斯-第168章

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the　parties。　
　Putana　madonna；　che　ci　dia　i　quattrini！　Ho　ragione？　Culo　rotto！　
　Intendiamoci。　Mezzo　sovrano　più　
　Dice　lui；　pero。　
　Farabutto！　Mortacci　sui！　
Mr　Bloom　and　Stephen　entered　the　cabman's　shelter；　an　unpretentious　wooden　structure；　where；　prior　to　then；　he　had　rarely；　if　ever；　been　before；　the　former　having　previously　whispered　to　the　latter　a　few　hints　anent　the　keeper　of　it；　said　to　be　the　once　famous　Skin…the…Goat；　Fitzharris；　the　invincible；　though　he　wouldn't　vouch　for　the　actual　facts；　which　quite　possibly　there　was　not　one　vestige　of　truth　in。　A　few　moments　later　saw　our　two　noctambules　safely　seated　in　a　discreet　corner；　only　to　be　greeted　by　stares　from　the　decidedly　miscellaneous　collection　of　waifs　and　strays　and　other　nondescript　specimens　of　the　genus　homo；　already　there　engaged　in　eating　and　drinking；　diversified　by　conversation；　for　whom　they　seemingly　formed　an　object　of　marked　curiosity。　
　Now　touching　a　cup　of　coffee；　Mr　Bloom　ventured　to　plausibly　suggest　to　break　the　ice；　it　occurs　to　me　you　ought　to　sample　something　in　the　shape　of　solid　food；　say　a　roll　of　some　description。　
Accordingly　his　first　act　was　with　characteristic　sangfroid　to　order　these　modities　quietly。　The　hoi　polloi　of　jarvies　or　stevedores；　or　whatever　they　were；　after　a　cursory　examination；　turned　their　eyes；　apparently　dissatisfied；　away；　though　one　redbearded　bibulous　individual；　a　portion　of　whose　hair　was　greyish；　a　sailor；　probably；　still　stared　for　some　appreciable　time　before　transferring　his　rapt　attention　to　the　floor。　
Mr　Bloom；　availing　himself　of　the　right　of　free　speech；　he　having　just　a　bowing　acquaintance　with　the　language　in　dispute　though；　to　be　sure；　rather　in　a　quandary　over　voglio；　remarked　to　his　protégé　in　an　audible　tone　of　voice；　apropos　of　the　battle　royal　in　the　street　which　was　still　raging　fast　and　furious：　
　Beautiful　language。　I　mean　for　singing　purposes。　Why　do　you　not　write　your　poetry　in　that　language？　Bella　Poetria！　it　is　so　melodious　and　full。　Belladonna　voglio。　
Stephen；　who　was　trying　his　dead　best　to　yawn；　if　he　could；　suffering　from　dead　lassitude　generally；　replied：　
　To　fill　the　ear　of　a　cow　elephant。　They　were　haggling　over　money。　
　Is　that　so？　Mr　Bloom　asked。　Of　course；　he　subjoined　pensively；　at　the　inward　reflection　of　there　being　more　languages　to　start　with　than　were　absolutely　necessary；　it　may　be　only　the　southern　glamour　that　surrounds　it。　
The　keeper　of　the　shelter　in　the　middle　of　this　tête…à…tête　put　a　boiling　swimming　cup　of　a　choice　concoction　labelled　coffee　on　the　table　and　a　rather　antediluvian　specimen　of　a　bun；　or　so　it　seemed；　after　which　he　beat　a　retreat　to　his　counter。　Mr　Bloom　determining　to　have　a　good　square　look　at　him　later　on　so　as　not　to　appear　to。。。　for　which　reason　he　encouraged　Stephen　to　proceed　with　his　eyes　while　he　did　the　honours　by　surreptitiously　pushing　the　cup　of　what　was　temporarily　supposed　to　be　called　coffee　gradually　nearer　him。　
　Sounds　are　impostures；　Stephen　said　after　a　pause　of　some　little　time。　Like　names；　Cicero；　Podmore；　Napoleon；　Mr　Goodbody；　Jesus；　Mr　Doyle。　Shakespeares　were　as　mon　as　Murphies。　What's　in　a　name？　
　Yes；　to　be　sure；　Mr　Bloom　unaffectedly　concurred。　Of　course。　Our　name　was　changed　too；　he　added；　pushing　the　socalled　roll　across。　
The　redbearded　sailor；　who　had　his　weather　eye　on　the　newers；　boarded　Stephen；　whom　he　had　singled　out　for　attention　in　particular；　squarely　by　asking：　
　And　what　might　your　name　be？　
Just　in　the　nick　of　time　Mr　Bloom　touched　his　panion's　boot　but　Stephen；　apparently　disregarding　the　warm　pressure；　from　an　unexpected　quarter；　answered：　
　Dedalus。　
The　sailor　stared　at　him　heavily　from　a　pair　of　drowsy　baggy　eyes；　rather　bunged　up　from　excessive　use　of　boose；　preferably　good　old　Hollands　and　water。　
　You　know　Simon　Dedalus？　he　asked　at　length。　
　I've　heard　of　him；　Stephen　said。　
Mr　Bloom　was　all　at　sea　for　a　moment；　seeing　the　others　evidently　eavesdropping　too。　
　He's　Irish；　the　seaman　bold　affirmed；　staring　still　in　much　the　same　way　and　nodding。　All　Irish。　
　All　too　Irish；　Stephen　rejoined。　
As　for　Mr　Bloom　he　could　neither　make　head　or　tail　of　the　whole　business　and　he　was　just　asking　himself　what　possible　connection　when　the　sailor；　of　his　own　accord；　turned　to　the　other　Occupants　of　the　shelter　with　the　remark：　I　seen　him　shoot　two　eggs　off　two　bottles　at　fifty　yards　over　his　shoulder。　The　left　hand　dead　shot。　
Though　he　was　slightly　hampered　by　an　occasional　stammer　and　his　gestures　being　also　clumsy　as　it　was　still　he　did　his　best　to　explain。　
　Bottle　Out　there；　say。　Fifty　yards　measured。　Eggs　on　the　bottles。　Cocks　his　gun　over　his　shoulder。　Aims。　
He　turned　his　body　half　round；　shut　up　his　right　eye　pletely；　then　he　screwed　his　features　up　some　way　sideways　and　glared　out　into　the　night　with　an　unprepossessing　cast　of　countenance。　
　Pom；　he　then　shouted　once。　
The　entire　audience　waited；　anticipating　an　additional　detonation；　there　being　still　a　further　egg。　
　Pom；　he　shouted　twice。　
Egg　two　evidently　demolished；　he　nodded　and　winked；　adding　bloodthirstily：　
Buffalo　Bill　shoots　to　kill；
Never　missed　nor　he　never　will。
A　silence　ensued　till　Mr　Bloom　for　agreeableness'　sake　just　felt　like　asking　him　whether　it　was　for　a　marksmanship　petition　like　the　Bisley。　
　Beg　pardon；　the　sailor　said。　
　Long　ago？　Mr　Bloom　pursued　without　flinching　a　hairsbreadth。　
　Why；　the　sailor　replied；　relaxing　to　a　certain　extent　under　the　magic　influence　of　diamond　cut　diamond；　it　might　be　a　matter　of　ten　years。　He　toured　the　wide　world　with　Hengler's　Royal　Circus。　I　seen　him　do　that　in　Stockholm。　
　Curious　coincidence；　Mr　Bloom　confided　to　Stephen　unobtrusively。　
　Murphy's　my　name；　the　sailor　continued；　W。　B。　Murphy；　of　Carrigaloe。　Know　where　that　is？　
　Queenstown　Harbour；　Stephen　replied。　
　That's　right；　the　sailor　said。　Fort　Camden　and　Fort　Carlisle。　That's　where　I　hails　from。　My　little　woman's　down　there。　She's　waiting　for　me；　I　know。　For　England；　home　and　beauty。　She's　my　own　true　wife　I　haven't　seen　for　seven　years　now；　sailing　about。　
Mr　Bloom　could　easily　picture　his　advent　on　this　scene　…　the　homeing　to　the　mariner's　roadside　shieling　after　having　diddled　Davy　Jones　…　a　rainy　night　with　a　blind　moon。　Across　the　world　for　a　wife。　Quite　a　number　of　stories　there　were　on　that　particular　Alice　Ben　Bolt　topic；　Enoch　Arden　and　Rip　van　Winkle　and　does　anybody　hereabouts　remember　Caoc　O'Leary；　a　favourite　and　most　trying　declamation　piece；　by　the　way；　of　poor　John　Casey　and　a　bit　of　perfect　poetry　in　its　own　small　way？　Never　about　the　runaway　wife　ing　back；　however　much　devoted　to　the　absentee。　The　face　at　the　window！　Judge　of　his　astonishment　when　he　finally　did　breast　the　tape　and　the　awful　truth　dawned　upon　him　anent　his　better　half；　wrecked　in　his　affections。　You　little　expected　me　but　I've　e　to　stay　and　make　a　fresh　start。　There　she　sits；　a　grass　widow；　at　the　selfsame　fireside。　Believes　me　dead。　Rocked　in　the　cradle　of　the　deep。　And　there　sits　uncle　Chubb　or　Tomkin；　as　the　case　might　be；　the　publican　of　the　Crown　and　Anchor；　in　shirtsleeves；　eating　rumpsteak　and　onions。　No　chair　for　father。　Boo！　The　wind！　Her　brandnew　arrival　is　on　her　knee；　post　mortem　child。　With　a　high　ro！　and　a　randy　ro！　and　my　galloping　tearing　tandy　O！　Bow　to　the　inevitable。　Grin　and　bear　it。　I　remain　with　much　love　your　brokenhearted　husband；　W。　B。　Murphy。　
The　sailor；　who　scarcely　seemed　to　be　a　Dublin　resident；　turned　to　one　of　the　jarvies　with　the　request：　
　You　don't　happen　to　have　such　a　thing　as　a　spare　chaw　about　you；　do　you？　
The　jarvey　addressed；　as　it　happened；　had　not　but　the　keeper　took　a　die　of　plug　from　his　good　jacket　hanging　on　a　nail　and　the　desired　object　was　passed　from　hand　to　hand。　
　Thank　you；　the　sailor　said。　
He　deposited　the　quid　in　his　gob　and；　chewing；　and　with　some　slow　stammers；　proceeded：　
　We　e　up　this　morning　eleven　o'clock。　The　threemaster　Rosevean　from　Bridgwater　with　bricks。　I　shipped　to　get　over。　Paid　off　this　afternoon。　There's　my　discharge。　See？　W。　B。　Murphy；　A。　B。　S。　
In　confirmation　of　which　statement　he　extricated　from　an　inside　pocket　and　handed　to　his　neighbours　a　not　very　clean　looking　folded　document。　
　You　must　have　seen　a　fair　shar