Улисс

           Theferreteyedporkbutcherfoldedthesausageshehadsnippedoffwithblotchyfingers,sausagepink.Soundmeatthere:likeastallfedheifer.

           Hetookapageupfromthepileofcutsheets:themodelfarmatKinnerethonthelakeshoreofTiberias.Canbecomeidealwintersanatorium.MosesMontefiore.Ithoughthewas.Farmhouse,wallroundit,blurredcattlecropping.Heheldthepagefromhim:interesting:readitnearer,thetitle,theblurredcroppingcattle,thepagerustling.Ayoungwhiteheifer.Thosemorningsinthecattlemarket,thebeastslowingintheirpens,brandedsheep,flopandfallofdung,thebreedersinhobnailedbootstrudgingthroughthelitter,slappingapalmonaripemeatedhindquarter,there’saprimeone,unpeeledswitchesintheirhands.Heheldthepageaslantpatiently,bendinghissensesandhiswill,hissoftsubjectgazeatrest.Thecrookedskirtswinging,whackbywhackbywhack.

           Theporkbutchersnappedtwosheetsfromthepile,wrappedupherprimesausagesandmadearedgrimace.

           —Now,mymiss,hesaid.

           Shetenderedacoin,smilingboldly,holdingherthickwristout.

           —Thankyou,mymiss.Andoneshillingthreepencechange.Foryou,please?

           MrBloompointedquickly.Tocatchupandwalkbehindherifshewentslowly,behindhermovinghams.Pleasanttoseefirstthinginthemorning.Hurryup,damnit.Makehaywhilethesunshines.Shestoodoutsidetheshopinsunlightandsaunteredlazilytotheright.Hesigheddownhisnose:theyneverunderstand.Sodachappedhands.Crustedtoenailstoo.Brownscapularsintatters,defendingherbothways.