0 Ulysses
(A covey of gulls, storm petrels, rises hungrily from Liffey
slime with Banbury cakes in their beaks.)
THE GULLS: Kaw kave kankury kake.
BLOOM: The friend of man. Trained by kindness.
(He points. Bob Doran, toppling from a high barstool,
sways over the munching spaniel.)
BOB DORAN: Towser. Give us the paw. Give the paw.
(The bulldog growls, his scruff standing, a gobbet of pig’s
knuckle between his molars through which rabid scumspittle
dribbles. Bob Doran fills silently into an area.)
SECOND WATCH: Prevention of cruelty to animals.
BLOOM: (Enthusiastically) A noble work! I scolded that
tramdriver on Harold’s cross bridge for illusing the poor
horse with his harness scab. Bad French I got for my pains.
Of course it was frosty and the last tram. All tales of circus
life are highly demoralising.
(Signor Maffei, passionpale, in liontamer’s costume with
diamond studs in his shirtfront, steps forward, holding a cir-
cus paperhoop, a curling carriagewhip and a revolver with
which he covers the gorging boarhound.)
SIGNOR MAFFEI: (With a sinister smile) Ladies and
gentlemen, my educated greyhound. It was I broke in the
bucking broncho Ajax with my patent spiked saddle for car-
nivores. Lash under the belly with a knotted thong. Block
tackle and a strangling pulley will bring your lion to heel,
no matter how fractious, even Leo ferox there, the Libyan
maneater. A redhot crowbar and some liniment rubbing on
the burning part produced Fritz of Amsterdam, the think-
ing hyena. (He glares) I possess the Indian sign. The glint of