Ulysses
ing, snuffling, rooting at his feet: then lies, shamming dead,
with eyes shut tight, trembling eyelids, bowed upon the
ground in the attitude of most excellent master.)
BELLO: (With bobbed hair, purple gills, fit moustache
rings round his shaven mouth, in mountaineer’s puttees,
green silverbuttoned coat, sport skirt and alpine hat with
moorcock’s feather, his hands stuck deep in his breeches pock-
ets, places his heel on her neck and grinds it in) Footstool!
Feel my entire weight. Bow, bondslave, before the throne
of your despot’s glorious heels so glistening in their proud
erectness.
BLOOM: (Enthralled, bleats) I promise never to disobey.
BELLO: (Laughs loudly) Holy smoke! You little know
what’s in store for you. I’m the Tartar to settle your little
lot and break you in! I’ll bet Kentucky cocktails all round
I shame it out of you, old son. Cheek me, I dare you. If you
do tremble in anticipation of heel discipline to be inflicted
in gym costume.
(Bloom creeps under the sofa and peers out through the
fringe.)
ZOE: (Widening her slip to screen her) She’s not here.
BLOOM: (Closing her eyes) She’s not here.
FLORRY: (Hiding her with her gown) She didn’t mean it,
Mr Bello. She’ll be good, sir.
KITTY: Don’t be too hard on her, Mr Bello. Sure you
won’t, ma’amsir.
BELLO: (Coaxingly) Come, ducky dear, I want a word
with you, darling, just to administer correction. Just a little
heart to heart talk, sweety. (Bloom puts out her timid head)