Part 219

THE VOICE OF ALL THE BLESSED: Alleluia, for the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!

(From on high the voice of Adonai calls.)

ADONAI: Goooooooooood!

(In strident discord peasants and townsmen of Orange and Green factions sing Kick the Pope and Daily, daily sing to Mary.)

PRIVATE CARR: (With ferocious articulation.) I’ll do him in, so help me fucking Christ! I’ll wring the bastard fucker’s bleeding blasted fucking windpipe!

(The retriever, nosing on the fringe of the crowd, barks noisily.)

OLD GUMMY GRANNY: (Thrusts a dagger towards Stephen’s hand.) Remove him, acushla. At 8.35 a.m. you will be in heaven and Ireland will be free. (She prays.) O good God, take him!

BLOOM: (Runs to Lynch.) Can’t you get him away?

LYNCH: He likes dialectic, the universal language. Kitty! (To Bloom.) Get him away, you. He won’t listen to me.

(He drags Kitty away.)

STEPHEN: (Points.) Exit Judas. Et laqueo se suspendit.

BLOOM: (Runs to Stephen.) Come along with me now before worse happens. Here’s your stick.

STEPHEN: Stick, no. Reason. This feast of pure reason.

CISSY CAFFREY: (Pulling Private Carr.) Come on, you’re boosed. He insulted me but I forgive him. (Shouting in his ear.) I forgive him for insulting me.

BLOOM: (Over Stephen’s shoulder.) Yes, go. You see he’s incapable.

PRIVATE CARR: (Breaks loose.) I’ll insult him.

(He rushes towards Stephen, fist outstretched, and strikes him in the face. Stephen totters, collapses, falls, stunned. He lies prone, his face to the sky, his hat rolling to the wall. Bloom follows and picks it up.)

MAJOR TWEEDY: (Loudly.) Carbine in bucket! Cease fire! Salute!

THE RETRIEVER: (Barking furiously.) Ute ute ute ute ute ute ute ute.

THE CROWD: Let him up! Don’t strike him when he’s down! Air! Who? The soldier hit him. He’s a professor. Is he hurted? Don’t manhandle him! He’s fainted!

A HAG: What call had the redcoat to strike the gentleman and he under the influence. Let them go and fight the Boers!

THE BAWD: Listen to who’s talking! Hasn’t the soldier a right to go with his girl? He gave him the coward’s blow.

(They grab at each other’s hair, claw at each other and spit.)

THE RETRIEVER: (Barking.) Wow wow wow.

BLOOM: (Shoves them back, loudly.) Get back, stand back!

PRIVATE COMPTON: (Tugging his comrade.) Here. Bugger off, Harry. Here’s the cops! (Two raincaped watch, tall, stand in the group.)

FIRST WATCH: What’s wrong here?

PRIVATE COMPTON: We were with this lady. And he insulted us. And assaulted my chum. (The retriever barks.) Who owns the bleeding tyke?