Ulysses
written. I have ...
BLOOM: Done. Prff!
THE NYMPH: (Loftily) We immortals, as you saw today,
have not such a place and no hair there either. We are stone-
cold and pure. We eat electric light. (She arches her body
in lascivious crispation, placing her forefinger in her mouth)
Spoke to me. Heard from behind. How then could you ...?
BLOOM: (Pawing the heather abjectly) O, I have been a
perfect pig. Enemas too I have administered. One third of
a pint of quassia to which add a tablespoonful of rocksalt.
Up the fundament. With Hamilton Long’s syringe, the la-
dies’ friend.
THE NYMPH: In my presence. The powderpuff. (She
blushes and makes a knee) And the rest!
BLOOM: (Dejected) Yes. Peccavi! I have paid homage on
that living altar where the back changes name. (With sud-
den fervour) For why should the dainty scented jewelled
hand, the hand that rules ...?
(Figures wind serpenting in slow woodland pattern
around the treestems, cooeeing)
THE VOICE OF KITTY: (In the thicket) Show us one of
them cushions.
THE VOICE OF FLORRY: Here.
(A grouse wings clumsily through the underwood.)
THE VOICE OF LYNCH: (In the thicket) Whew! Piping
hot!
THE VOICE OF ZOE: (From the thicket) Came from a
hot place.
THE VOICE OF VIRAG: (A birdchief, bluestreaked and