Улісс
Chapter 2
Talbotslidhisclosedbookintohissatchel.
—HaveIheardall?Stephenasked.
—Yes,sir.Hockeyatten,sir.
—Halfday,sir.Thursday.
—Whocananswerariddle?Stephenasked.
Theybundledtheirbooksaway,pencilsclacking,pagesrustling.Crowdingtogethertheystrappedandbuckledtheirsatchels,allgabblinggaily:
—Ariddle,sir?Askme,sir.
—O,askme,sir.
—Ahardone,sir.
—Thisistheriddle,Stephensaid:
Thecockcrew,
Theskywasblue:
Thebellsinheaven
Werestrikingeleven.
’Tistimeforthispoorsoul
Togotoheaven.
Whatisthat?
—What,sir?
—Again,sir.Wedidn’thear.
Theireyesgrewbiggerasthelineswererepeated.AfterasilenceCochranesaid:
—Whatisit,sir?Wegiveitup.
Stephen,histhroatitching,answered:
—Thefoxburyinghisgrandmotherunderahollybush.
Hestoodupandgaveashoutofnervouslaughtertowhichtheircriesechoeddismay.
Astickstruckthedoorandavoiceinthecorridorcalled:
—Hockey!
Theybrokeasunder,sidlingoutoftheirbenches,leapingthem.Quicklytheyweregoneandfromthelumberroomcametherattleofsticksandclamouroftheirbootsandtongues.
Sargentwhoalonehadlingeredcameforwardslowly,showinganopencopybook.Histangledhairandscraggyneckgavewitnessofunreadinessandthroughhismistyglassesweakeyeslookeduppleading.Onhischeek,dullandbloodless,asoftstainofinklay,dateshaped,recentanddampasasnail’sbed.
Heheldouthiscopybook.ThewordSumswaswrittenontheheadline.Beneathwereslopingfiguresandatthefootacrookedsignaturewithblindloopsandablot.