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by, 05-18-2012 at 02:33 PM (28 Views)
Bloom ate liv as said before. Clean here at least. That chap in the
Burton, gummy with gristle. No-one here: Lancel pas cher Goulding and I. Clean tables, flowers, mitres of napkins. Pat to and fro. Bald Pat. Nothing to do.
Best value in Dub.
Piano again. Cowley it is. Way he sits in to it, like one together,
mutual understanding. Tiresome shapers scraping fiddles, eye on the
bowend, sawing the cello, remind you of toothache. Her high long snore.
Night we were in the box. Trombone under shox scarpe blowing like a grampus, between the acts, other brass chap unscrewing, emptying spittle. Conductor's
legs too, bagstrousers, jiggedy jiggedy. Do right to hide them.
Jiggedy jingle jaunty jaunty.
Only the harp. Lovely. Gold glowering light. Girl touched it. Poop of a
lovely. Gravy's rather good fit for a. Golden ship. Erin. The harp that
once or twice. Cool hands. Ben Howth, the rhododendrons. We are their
harps. Louis Vuitton Pas Cher I. He. Old. Young.
--Ah, I couldn't, man, Mr Dedalus said, shy, listless.
--Go on, blast you! Ben Dollard growled. Get it out in bits.
--_M'appari,_ Simon, Father Cowley said.
Down stage he strode some paces, grave, tall in affliction, his long
arms outheld. Hoarsely the apple of his throat hoarsed softly. Softly he
sang to a dusty seascape there: _A Last Farewell._ A headland, a ship, a
sail upon the billows. Farewell. A lovely girl, nike shox scarpe her veil awave upon the wind upon the headland, wind around her.
Il mio sguardo l'incontr..._
She waved, unhearing Cowley, her veil, to one departing, dear one, to
wind, love, speeding sail, return.
--Go on, Simon.
--Ah, sure, my dancing days are done, Ben... Well...
Mr Dedalus laid his pipe to rest beside the tuningfork and, sitting,
touched the obedient keys.
--No, Simon, Father Cowley turned. Play it in the original. One flat.
The keys, obedient, rose higher, told, faltered, confessed, confused.
Up stage strode Father Cowley.
--Here, Simon, I'll accompany you, he said. Get up.
By Graham Lemon's pineapple rock, by Elvery's elephant jingly jogged.
Steak, kidney, liver, mashed, at meat fit for princes sat princes Bloom
and Goulding. Princes at meat they raised and drank, Power and cider.
Most beautiful tenor air ever written, Richie said: _Sonnambula._ He
heard Joe Maas sing that one night. Ah, what M'Guckin! Yes. In his way.
Choirboy style. Maas was the boy. Massboy. A lyrical tenor if you like.
Never forget it. Never.
Tenderly Bloom over liverless bacon saw the tightened features strain.
Backache he. Bright's bright eye. Next item on the programme. Paying the
piper. Pills, pounded bread, worth a guinea a box. Stave it off awhile.
Sings too: _Down among the dead men._ Appropriate. Kidney pie. Sweets to
the. Not making much hand of it. Best value in. Characteristic of him.
Power. Particular about his drink. Flaw in the glass, fresh Vartry
water. Fecking matches from counters to save. Then squander a sovereign
in dribs and drabs. And when he's wanted not a farthing. Screwed
refusing to pay his fare. Curious types.
Never would Richie forget that night. As long as he lived: never. In the
gods of the old Royal with little Peake. And when the first note.
Speech paused on Richie's lips.
Coming out with a whopper now. Rhapsodies about damn all.
Believes his own lies. Does really. Wonderful liar. But want a good
--Which air is that? asked Leopold Bloom.
--_All is lost now_.
Richie cocked his lips apout. A low incipient note sweet banshee
murmured: all. A thrush. A throstle. His breath, birdsweet, good teeth
he's proud of, fluted with plaintive woe. Is lost. Rich sound. Two
notes in one there. Blackbird I heard in the hawthorn valley. Taking my
motives he twined and turned them. All most too new call is lost in all.
Echo. How sweet the answer. How is that done? All lost now. Mournful he
whistled. Fall, surrender, lost.
Bloom bent leopold ear, turning a fringe of doyley down under the vase.
Order. Yes, I remember. Lovely air. In sleep she went to him. Innocence
in the moon. Brave. Don't know their danger. Still hold her back. Call
name. Touch water. Jingle jaunty. Too late. She longed to go. That's
why. Woman. As easy stop the sea. Yes: all is lost.
--A beautiful air, said Bloom lost Leopold. I know it well.