Chapter 4: Lotus Eaters

5.1  By lorries along sir John Rogerson's quay Mr Bloom walked soberly, past

5.2  Windmill lane, Leask's the linseed crusher, the postal telegraph office.

5.3  Could have given that address too. And past the sailors' home. He turned

5.4  from the morning noises of the quayside and walked through Lime street.

5.5  By Brady's cottages a boy for the skins lolled, his bucket of offal

5.6  linked, smoking a chewed fagbutt. A smaller girl with scars of eczema on

5.7  her forehead eyed him, listlessly holding her battered caskhoop. Tell him

5.8  if he smokes he won't grow. O let him! His life isn't such a bed of

5.9  roses. Waiting outside pubs to bring da home. Come home to ma, da. Slack

5.10  hour: won't be many there. He crossed Townsend street, passed the

5.11  frowning face of Bethel. El, yes: house of: Aleph, Beth. And past

5.12  Nichols' the undertaker. At eleven it is. Time enough. Daresay Corny

5.13  Kelleher bagged the job for O'Neill's. Singing with his eyes shut. Corny.

5.14  Met her once in the park. In the dark. What a lark. Police tout. Her name

5.15  and address she then told with my tooraloom tooraloom tay. O, surely he bagged it. Bury him cheap

5.16  in a whatyoumaycall. With my tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom, tooraloom.

5.17  In Westland row he halted before the window of the Belfast and Oriental

5.18  Tea Company and read the legends of leadpapered packets: choice blend,

5.19  finest quality, family tea. Rather warm. Tea. Must get some from Tom

5.20  Kernan. Couldn't ask him at a funeral, though. While his eyes still read

5.21  blandly he took off his hat quietly inhaling his hairoil and sent his

5.22  right hand with slow grace over his brow and hair. Very warm morning.

5.23  Under their dropped lids his eyes found the tiny bow of the leather

5.24  headband inside his high grade ha. Just there. His right hand came down

5.25  into the bowl of his hat. His fingers found quickly a card behind the

5.26  headband and transferred it to his waistcoat pocket.

5.27  So warm. His right hand once more more slowly went over his brow and

5.28  hair. Then he put on his hat again, relieved: and read again: choice

5.29  blend, made of the finest Ceylon brands. The far east. Lovely spot it

5.30  must be: the garden of the world, big lazy leaves to float about on,

5.31  cactuses, flowery meads, snaky lianas they call them. Wonder is it like

5.32  that. Those Cinghalese lobbing about in the sun in DOLCE FAR NIENTE, not

5.33  doing a hand's turn all day. Sleep six months out of twelve. Too hot to

5.34  quarrel. Influence of the climate. Lethargy. Flowers of idleness. The air

5.35  feeds most. Azotes. Hothouse in Botanic gardens. Sensitive plants.

5.36  Waterlilies. Petals too tired to. Sleeping sickness in the air. Walk on

5.37  roseleaves. Imagine trying to eat tripe and cowheel. Where was the chap I

5.38  saw in that picture somewhere? Ah yes, in the dead sea floating on his

5.39  back, reading a book with a parasol open. Couldn't sink if you tried: so

5.40  thick with salt. Because the weight of the water, no, the weight of the

5.41  body in the water is equal to the weight of the what? Or is it the volume

5.42  is equal to the weight? It's a law something like that. Vance in High

5.43  school cracking his fingerjoints, teaching. The college curriculum. Cracking curriculum. What is

5.44  weight really when you say the weight? Thirtytwo feet per second per second. Law of

5.45  falling bodies: per second per second. They all fall to the ground. The earth. It's the force of

5.46  gravity of the earth is the weight.

5.47  He turned away and sauntered across the road. How did she walk with her

5.48  sausages? Like that something. As he walked he took the folded FREEMAN

5.49  from his sidepocket, unfolded it, rolled it lengthwise in a baton and

5.50  tapped it at each sauntering step against his trouserleg. Careless air:

5.51  just drop in to see. Per second per second. Per second for every second

5.52  it means. From the curbstone he darted a keen glance through the door of

5.53  the postoffice. Too late box. Post here. No-one. In.

5.54  He handed the card through the brass grill.

5.55  --Are there any letters for me? he asked.

5.56  While the postmistress searched a pigeonhole he gazed at the recruiting

5.57  poster with soldiers of all arms on parade: and held the tip of his baton

5.58  against his nostrils, smelling freshprinted rag paper. No answer

5.59  probably. Went too far last time.

5.60  The postmistress handed him back through the grill his card with a

5.61  letter. He thanked her and glanced rapidly at the typed envelope.

5.62  Henry Flower Esq,

5.63  c/o P. O. Westland Row,

5.64  City.

5.65  Answered anyhow. He slipped card and letter into his sidepocket,

5.66  reviewing again the soldiers on parade. Where's old Tweedy's regiment?

5.67  Castoff soldier. There: bearskin cap and hackle plume. No, he's a

5.68  grenadier. Pointed cuffs. There he is: royal Dublin fusiliers. Redcoats.

5.69  Too showy. That must be why the women go after them. Uniform. Easier to

5.70  enlist and drill. Maud Gonne's letter about taking them off O'Connell

5.71  street at night: disgrace to our Irish capital. Griffith's paper is on

5.72  the same tack now: an army rotten with venereal disease: overseas or

5.73  halfseasover empire. Half baked they look: hypnotised like. Eyes front.

5.74  Mark time. Table: able. Bed: ed. The King's own. Never see him dressed up

5.75  as a fireman or a bobby. A mason, yes.

5.76  He strolled out of the postoffice and turned to the right. Talk: as if

5.77  that would mend matters. His hand went into his pocket and a forefinger

5.78  felt its way under the flap of the envelope, ripping it open in jerks.

5.79  Women will pay a lot of heed, I don't think. His fingers drew forth the

5.80  letter the letter and crumpled the envelope in his pocket. Something

5.81  pinned on: photo perhaps. Hair? No.

5.82  M'Coy. Get rid of him quickly. Take me out of my way. Hate company when

5.83  you.5.84--Hello, Bloom. Where are you off to?

5.85  --Hello, M'Coy. Nowhere in particular.

5.86  --How's the body?

5.87  --Fine. How are you?

5.88  --Just keeping alive, M'Coy said.

5.89  His eyes on the black tie and clothes he asked with low respect:

5.90  --Is there any ... no trouble I hope? I see you're ...

5.91  --O, no, Mr Bloom said. Poor Dignam, you know. The funeral is today.

5.92  --To be sure, poor fellow. So it is. What time?

5.93  A photo it isn't. A badge maybe.

5.94  --E ... eleven, Mr Bloom answered.

5.95  --I must try to get out there, M'Coy said. Eleven, is it? I only heard it

5.96  last night. Who was telling me? Holohan. You know Hoppy?

5.97  --I know.

5.98  Mr Bloom gazed across the road at the outsider drawn up before the door

5.99  of the Grosvenor. The porter hoisted the valise up on the well. She stood

5.100  still, waiting, while the man, husband, brother, like her, searched his

5.101  pockets for change. Stylish kind of coat with that roll collar, warm for

5.102  a day like this, looks like blanketcloth. Careless stand of her with her

5.103  hands in those patch pockets. Like that haughty creature at the polo

5.104  match. Women all for caste till you touch the spot. Handsome is and

5.105  handsome does. Reserved about to yield. The honourable Mrs and Brutus is

5.106  an honourable man. Possess her once take the starch out of her.

5.107  --I was with Bob Doran, he's on one of his periodical bends, and what do

5.108  you call him Bantam Lyons. Just down there in Conway's we were.

5.109  Doran Lyons in Conway's. She raised a gloved hand to her hair. In came

5.110  Hoppy. Having a wet. Drawing back his head and gazing far from beneath

5.111  his vailed eyelids he saw the bright fawn skin shine in the glare, the

5.112  braided drums. Clearly I can see today. Moisture about gives long sight

5.113  perhaps. Talking of one thing or another. Lady's hand. Which side will

5.114  she get up?

5.115  --And he said: SAD THING ABOUT OUR POOR FRIEND PADDY! WHAT PADDY? I said.

5.116  POOR LITTLE PADDY DIGNAM, he said.

5.117  Off to the country: Broadstone probably. High brown boots with laces

5.118  dangling. Wellturned foot. What is he foostering over that change for?

5.119  Sees me looking. Eye out for other fellow always. Good fallback. Two

5.120  strings to her bow.

5.121  --WHY? I said. WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM? I said.

5.122  Proud: rich: silk stockings.

5.123  --Yes, Mr Bloom said.

5.124  He moved a little to the side of M'Coy's talking head. Getting up in a

5.125  minute.

5.126  --WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM? He said. HE'S DEAD, he said. And, faith, he

5.127  filled up. IS IT PADDY DIGNAM? I said. I couldn't believe it when I heard

5.128  it. I was with him no later than Friday last or Thursday was it in the

5.129  Arch. YES, he said. HE'S GONE. HE DIED ON MONDAY, POOR FELLOW. Watch!

5.130  Watch! Silk flash rich stockings white. Watch!

5.131  A heavy tramcar honking its gong slewed between.

5.132  Lost it. Curse your noisy pugnose. Feels locked out of it. Paradise and

5.133  the peri. Always happening like that. The very moment. Girl in Eustace

5.134  street hallway Monday was it settling her garter. Her friend covering the

5.135  display of. ESPRIT DE CORPS. Well, what are you gaping at?

5.136  --Yes, yes, Mr Bloom said after a dull sigh. Another gone.

5.137  --One of the best, M'Coy said.

5.138  The tram passed. They drove off towards the Loop Line bridge, her rich

5.139  gloved hand on the steel grip. Flicker, flicker: the laceflare of her hat

5.140  in the sun: flicker, flick.

5.141  --Wife well, I suppose? M'Coy's changed voice said.

5.142  --O, yes, Mr Bloom said. Tiptop, thanks.

5.143  He unrolled the newspaper baton idly and read idly:

5.144  WHAT IS HOME WITHOUT

5.145  PLUMTREE'S POTTED MEAT?

5.146  INCOMPLETE5.147WITH IT AN ABODE OF BLISS.

5.148  --My missus has just got an engagement. At least it's not settled yet.

5.149  Valise tack again. By the way no harm. I'm off that, thanks.

5.150  Mr Bloom turned his largelidded eyes with unhasty friendliness.

5.151  --My wife too, he said. She's going to sing at a swagger affair in the

5.152  Ulster Hall, Belfast, on the twenty-fifth.

5.153  --That so? M'Coy said. Glad to hear that, old man. Who's getting it up?

5.154  Mrs Marion Bloom. Not up yet. Queen was in her bedroom eating bread and.

5.155  No book. Blackened court cards laid along her thigh by sevens. Dark lady

5.156  and fair man. Letter. Cat furry black ball. Torn strip of envelope.

5.157  LOVE'S

5.158  OLD

5.159  SWEET

5.160  SONG

5.161  COMES LO-OVE'S OLD ...

5.162  --It's a kind of a tour, don't you see, Mr Bloom said thoughtfully.

5.163  SWEEEET SONG. There's a committee formed. Part shares and part profits.

5.164  M'Coy nodded, picking at his moustache stubble.

5.165  --O, well, he said. That's good news.

5.166  He moved to go.

5.167  --Well, glad to see you looking fit, he said. Meet you knocking around.

5.168  --Yes, Mr Bloom said.

5.169  --Tell you what, M'Coy said. You might put down my name at the funeral,

5.170  will you? I'd like to go but I mightn't be able, you see. There's a

5.171  drowning case at Sandycove may turn up and then the coroner and myself

5.172  would have to go down if the body is found. You just shove in my name if

5.173  I'm not there, will you?

5.174  --I'll do that, Mr Bloom said, moving to get off. That'll be all right.

5.175  --Right, M'Coy said brightly. Thanks, old man. I'd go if I possibly

5.176  could. Well, tolloll. Just C. P. M'Coy will do.

5.177  --That will be done, Mr Bloom answered firmly.

5.178  Didn't catch me napping that wheeze. The quick touch. Soft mark. I'd like

5.179  my job. Valise I have a particular fancy for. Leather. Capped corners,

5.180  rivetted edges, double action lever lock. Bob Cowley lent him his for the

5.181  Wicklow regatta concert last year and never heard tidings of it from that

5.182  good day to this.