Улісс

           —Canyousendthembytram?Now?

           AdarkbackedfigureunderMerchants’archscannedbooksonthehawker’scart.

           —Certainly,sir.Isitinthecity?

           —O,yes,BlazesBoylansaid.Tenminutes.

           Theblondgirlhandedhimadocketandpencil.

           —Willyouwritetheaddress,sir?

           BlazesBoylanatthecounterwroteandpushedthedockettoher.

           —Senditatonce,willyou?hesaid.It’sforaninvalid.

           —Yes,sir.Iwill,sir.

           BlazesBoylanrattledmerrymoneyinhistrousers’pocket.

           —What’sthedamage?heasked.

           Theblondgirl’sslimfingersreckonedthefruits.

           BlazesBoylanlookedintothecutofherblouse.Ayoungpullet.Hetookaredcarnationfromthetallstemglass.

           —Thisforme?heaskedgallantly.

           Theblondgirlglancedsidewaysathim,gotupregardless,withhistieabitcrooked,blushing.

           —Yes,sir,shesaid.

           Bendingarchlyshereckonedagainfatpearsandblushingpeaches.

           BlazesBoylanlookedinherblousewithmorefavour,thestalkoftheredflowerbetweenhissmilingteeth.

           —MayIsayawordtoyourtelephone,missy?heaskedroguishly.

           ***

           —Ma!AlmidanoArtifonisaid.

           HegazedoverStephen’sshoulderatGoldsmith’sknobbypoll.

           Twocarfulsoftouristspassedslowly,theirwomensittingfore,grippingthehandrests.Palefaces.Men’sarmsfranklyroundtheirstuntedforms.TheylookedfromTrinitytotheblindcolumnedporchofthebankofIrelandwherepigeonsroocoocooed.

           —Anch’iohoavutodiquesteidee,AlmidanoArtifonisaid,quand’erogiovinecomeLei.Eppoimisonoconvintocheilmondoèunabestia.Èpeccato.Perchèlasuavoce...