Улисс
Chapter 3
Hisjokesaregettingabitdamp.Greatcardhewas.WaltzinginStamerstreetwithIgnatiusGallaheronaSundaymorning,thelandlady’stwohatspinnedonhishead.Outontherampageallnight.Beginningtotellonhimnow:thatbackacheofhis,Ifear.Wifeironinghisback.Thinkshe’llcureitwithpills.Allbreadcrumbstheyare.Aboutsixhundredpercentprofit.
—He’sinwithalowdowncrowd,MrDedalussnarled.ThatMulliganisacontaminatedbloodydoubledyedruffianbyallaccounts.HisnamestinksalloverDublin.ButwiththehelpofGodandHisblessedmotherI’llmakeitmybusinesstowritealetteroneofthosedaystohismotherorhisauntorwhateversheisthatwillopenhereyeaswideasagate.I’llticklehiscatastrophe,believeyoume.
Hecriedabovetheclatterofthewheels:
—Iwon’thaveherbastardofanephewruinmyson.Acounterjumper’sson.Sellingtapesinmycousin,PeterPaulM’Swiney’s.Notlikely.
Heceased.MrBloomglancedfromhisangrymoustachetoMrPower’smildfaceandMartinCunningham’seyesandbeard,gravelyshaking.Noisyselfwilledman.Fullofhisson.Heisright.Somethingtohandon.IflittleRudyhadlived.Seehimgrowup.Hearhisvoiceinthehouse.WalkingbesideMollyinanEtonsuit.Myson.Meinhiseyes.Strangefeelingitwouldbe.Fromme.Justachance.MusthavebeenthatmorninginRaymondterraceshewasatthewindowwatchingthetwodogsatitbythewalloftheceasetodoevil.Andthesergeantgrinningup.Shehadthatcreamgownonwiththeripsheneverstitched.Giveusatouch,Poldy.God,I’mdyingforit.
