尤利西斯-第57章

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ean　Accident　and　Guarantee　Corporation。　
Phlegmy　coughs　shook　the　air　of　the　bookshop；　bulging　out　the　dingy　curtains。　The　shopman's　unbed　grey　head　came　out　and　his　unshaven　reddened　face；　coughing。　He　raked　his　throat　rudely；　spat　phlegm　on　the　floor。　He　put　his　boot　on　what　he　had　spat；　wiping　his　sole　along　it　and　bent；　showing　a　rawskinned　crown；　scantily　haired。　
Mr　Bloom　beheld　it。　
Mastering　his　troubled　breath；　he　said：　
　I'll　take　this　one。　
The　shopman　lifted　eyes　bleared　with　old　rheum。　
　Sweets　of　Sin；　he　said；　tapping　on　it。　That's　a　good　one。　
The　lacquey　by　the　door　of　Dillon's　auctionrooms　shook　his　handbell　twice　again　and　viewed　himself　in　the　chalked　mirror　of　the　cabinet。　
Dilly　Dedalus；　listening　by　the　curbstone；　heard　the　beats　of　the　bell；　the　cries　of　the　auctioneer　within。　Four　and　nine。　Those　lovely　curtains。　Five　shillings。　Cosy　curtains。　Selling　new　at　two　guineas。　Any　advance　on　five　shillings？　Going　for　five　shillings。　
The　lacquey　lifted　his　handbell　and　shook　it：　
　Barang！　
Bang　of　the　lastlap　bell　spurred　the　halfmile　wheelmen　to　their　sprint。　J。　A。　Jackson；　W。　E。　Wylie；　A。　Munro　and　H。　T。　Gahan；　their　stretched　necks　wagging；　negotiated　the　curve　by　the　College　Library。　
Mr　Dedalus；　tugging　a　long　moustache；　came　round　from　Williams's　row。　He　halted　near　his　daughter。　
　It's　time　for　you；　she　said。　
　Stand　up　straight　for　the　love　of　the　Lord　Jesus；　Mr　Dedalus　said。　Are　you　trying　to　imitate　your　uncle　John　the　cornetplayer；　head　upon　shoulders？　Melancholy　God！　
Dilly　shrugged　her　shoulders。　Mr　Dedalus　placed　his　hands　on　them　and　held　them　back。　
　Stand　up　straight；　girl；　he　said。　You'll　get　curvature　of　the　spine。　Do　you　know　what　you　look　like？　
He　let　his　head　sink　suddenly　down　and　forward；　hunching　his　shoulders　and　dropping　his　underjaw。　
　Give　it　up；　father；　Dilly　said。　All　the　people　are　looking　at　you。　
Mr　Dedalus　drew　himself　upright　and　tugged　again　at　his　moustache。　
　Did　you　get　any　money？　Dilly　asked。　
　Where　would　I　get　money？　Mr　Dedalus　said。　There　is　no…one　in　Dublin　would　lend　me　fourpence。　
　You　got　some；　Dilly　said；　looking　in　his　eyes。　
　How　do　you　know　that？　Mr　Dedalus　asked；　his　tongue　in　his　cheek。　
Mr　Kernan；　pleased　with　the　order　he　had　booked；　walked　boldly　along　James's　street。　
　I　know　you　did；　Dilly　answered。　Were　you　in　the　Scotch　house　now？　
　I　was　not　then；　Mr　Dedalus　said；　smiling。　Was　it　the　little　nuns　taught　you　to　be　so　saucy？　Here。　
He　handed　her　a　shilling。　
　See　if　you　can　do　anything　with　that；　he　said。　
　I　suppose　you　got　five；　Dilly　said。　Give　me　more　than　that。　
　Wait　awhile；　Mr　Dedalus　said　threateningly。　You're　like　the　rest　of　them；　are　you？　An　insolent　pack　of　little　bitches　since　your　poor　mother　died。　But　wait　awhile。　You'll　all　get　a　short　shrift　and　a　long　day　from　me。　Low　blackguardism！　I'm　going　to　get　rid　of　you。　Wouldn't　care　if　I　was　stretched　out　stiff。　He's　dead。　The　man　upstairs　is　dead。　
He　left　her　and　walked　on。　Dilly　followed　quickly　and　pulled　his　coat。　
　Well；　what　is　it？　he　said；　stopping。　
The　lacquey　rang　his　bell　behind　their　backs。　
　Barang！　
　Curse　your　bloody　blatant　soul；　Mr　Dedalus　cried；　turning　on　him。　
The　lacquey；　aware　of　ment；　shook　the　lolling　clapper　of　his　bell　but　feebly：　
　Bang！　
Mr　Dedalus　stared　at　him。　
　Watch　him；　he　said。　It's　instructive。　I　wonder　will　he　allow　us　to　talk。　
　You　got　more　than　that；　father；　Dilly　said。　
　I'm　going　to　show　you　a　little　trick；　Mr　Dedalus　said。　I'll　leave　you　all　where　Jesus　left　the　jews。　Look；　that's　all　I　have。　I　got　two　shillings　from　Jack　Power　and　I　spent　twopence　for　a　shave　for　the　funeral。　
He　drew　forth　a　handful　of　copper　coins　nervously。　
　Can't　you　look　for　some　money　somewhere？　Dilly　said。　
Mr　Dedalus　thought　and　nodded。　
　I　will；　he　said　gravely。　I　looked　all　along　the　gutter　in　O'Connell　street。　I'll　try　this　one　now。　
　You're　very　funny；　Dilly　said；　grinning。　
　Here；　Mr　Dedalus　said；　handing　her　two　pennies。　Get　a　glass　of　milk　for　yourself　and　a　bun　or　a　something。　I'll　be　home　shortly。　
He　put　the　other　coins　in　his　pocket　and　started　to　walk　on。　
The　viceregal　cavalcade　passed；　greeted　by　obsequious　policemen；　out　of　Parkgate。　
　I'm　sure　you　have　another　shilling；　Dilly　said。　
The　lacquey　banged　loudly。　
Mr　Dedalus　amid　the　din　walked　off；　murmuring　to　himself　with　a　pursing　mincing　mouth：　
　The　little　nuns！　Nice　little　things！　O；　sure　they　wouldn't　do　anything！　O；　sure　they　wouldn't　really！　Is　it　little　sister　Monica！　
From　the　sundial　towards　James's　Gate　walked　Mr　Kernan　pleased　with　the　order　he　had　booked　for　Pulbrook　Robertson　boldly　along　James's　street；　past　Shackleton's　offices。　Got　round　him　all　right。　How　do　you　do；　Mr　Crimmins？　First　rate；　sir。　I　was　afraid　you　might　be　up　in　your　other　establishment　in　Pimlico。　How　are　things　going？　Just　keeping　alive。　Lovely　weather　we　are　having。　Yes；　indeed。　Good　for　the　country。　Those　farmers　are　always　grumbling。　I'll　just　take　a　thimbleful　of　your　best　gin；　Mr　Crimmins。　A　small　gin；　sir。　Yes；　sir。　Terrible　affair　that　General　Slocum　explosion。　Terrible；　terrible！　A　thousand　casualties。　And　heartrending　scenes。　Men　trampling　down　women　and　children。　Most　brutal　thing。　What　do　they　say　was　the　cause？　Spontaneous　bustion：　most　scandalous　revelation。　Not　a　single　lifeboat　would　float　and　the　firehose　all　burst。　What　I　can't　understand　is　how　the　inspectors　ever　allowed　a　boat　like　that。。。　Now　you　are　talking　straight；　Mr　Crimmins。　You　know　why？　Palmoil。　Is　that　a　fact？　Without　a　doubt。　Well　now；　look　at　that。　And　America　they　say　is　the　land　of　the　free。　I　thought　we　were　bad　here。　
I　smiled　at　him。　America；　I　said；　quietly；　just　like　that。　What　is　it？　The　sweepings　of　every　country　including　our　own。　Isn't　that　true？　That's　a　fact。　
Graft；　my　dear　sir。　Well；　of　course；　where　there's　money　going　there's　always　someone　to　pick　it　up。　
Saw　him　looking　at　my　frockcoat。　Dress　does　it。　Nothing　like　a　dressy　appearance。　Bowls　them　over。　
　Hello；　Simon；　Father　Cowley　said。　How　are　things？　
　Hello；　Bob；　old　man；　Mr　Dedalus　answered　stopping。　
Mr　Kernan　halted　and　preened　himself　before　the　sloping　mirror　of　Peter　Kennedy；　hairdresser。　Stylish　coat；　beyond　a　doubt。　Scott　of　Dawson　street。　Well　worth　the　half　sovereign　I　gave　Neary　for　it。　Never　built　under　three　guineas。　Fits　me　down　to　the　ground。　Some　Kildare　street　club　toff　had　it　probably。　John　Mulligan；　the　manager　of　the　Hibernian　bank；　gave　me　a　very　sharp　eye　yesterday　on　Carlisle　bridge　as　if　he　remembered　me。　
Aham！　Must　dress　the　character　for　those　fellows。　Knight　of　the　road。　Gentleman。　And　now；　Mr　Crimmins；　may　we　have　the　honour　of　your　custom　again；　sir。　The　cup　that　cheers　but　not　inebriates；　as　the　old　saying　has　it。　
North　wall　and　sir　John　Rogerson's　quay；　with　hulls　and　anchorchains；　sailing　westward；　sailed　by　a　skiff；　a　crumpled　throwaway；　rocked　on　the　ferry…wash；　Elijah　is　ing。　
Mr　Kernan　glanced　in　farewell　at　his　image。　High　colour；　of　course。　Grizzled　moustache。　Returned　Indian　officer。　Bravely　he　bore　his　stumpy　body　forward　on　spatted　feet；　squaring　his　shoulders。　Is　that　Lambert's　brother　over　the　way；　Sam？　What？　Yes。　He's　as　like　it　as　damn　it。　No。　The　windscreen　of　that　motorcar　in　the　sun　there。　Just　a　flash　like　that。　Damn　like　him。　
Aham！　Hot　spirit　of　juniper　juice　warmed　his　vitals　and　his　breath。　Good　drop　of　gin；　that　was。　His　frocktails　winked　in　bright　sunshine　to　his　fat　strut。　
Down　there　Emmet　was　hanged；　drawn　and　quartered。　Greasy　black　rope。　Dogs　licking　the　blood　off　the　street　when　the　lord　lieutenant's　wife　drove　by　in　her　noddy。　
Let　me　see。　Is　he　buried　in　saint　Michan's？　Or　no；　there　was　a　midnight　burial　in　Glasnevin。　Corpse　brought　in　through　a　secret　door　in　the　wall。　Dignam　is　there　now。　Went　out　in　a　puff。　Well；　well。　Better　turn　down　here。　Make　a　detour。　
Mr　Kernan　turned　and　walked　down　the　slope　of　Watling　street　by　the　corner　of　Guinness's　visitors'　waitingroom。　Outside　the　Dublin　Distillers　pany's　stores　an　outside　car　without　fare　or　jarvey　stood；　the　reins　knotted　to　the　wheel。　Damn　dangerous　thing。　Some　Tipperary　bosthoon　endangering　the　lives　of　the　citizens。　Runaway　horse。　
Denis　Breen　with　his　tomes；　weary　of　having　waited　an　hour