the umbrella. Perhaps so as not to hurt.
I felt her pulse. Ticking. Little hand it
was: now big. Dearest Papli. All that
the hand says when you touch. Loved to count
my waistcoat buttons. Her first stays I remember.
Made me laugh to see. Little paps to begin with.
Left one is more sensitive, I think. Mine too.
Nearer the heart? Padding themselves out if fat
is in fashion. Her growing pains at night, calling,
wakening me. Frightened she was when her nature
came on her first. Poor child! Strange moment
for the mother too. Brings back her girlhood.
Gibraltar. Looking from Buena Vista. O’Hara’s
tower. The seabirds screaming. Old Barbary
ape that gobbled all his family. Sundown, gunfire
for the men to cross the lines. Looking out over
the sea she told me. Evening like this, but clear,
no clouds. I always thought I’d marry a
lord or a rich gentleman coming with a private yacht.
BUENAS NOCHES,
senorita.
El hombre
Ama la MUCHACHA
Hermosa. Why me?
Because you were so foreign from the others.
Better not stick here all night like a limpet.
This weather makes you dull. Must be getting
on for nine by the light. Go home. Too late
for Leah, lily of Killarney.
No. Might be still up. Call to the hospital
to see. Hope she’s over. Long day
I’ve had. Martha, the bath, funeral, house
of Keyes, museum with those goddesses, Dedalus’
song. Then that bawler in Barney Kiernan’s.
Got my own back there. Drunken ranters what I
said about his God made him wince. Mistake to
hit back. Or? No. Ought to go home and
laugh at themselves. Always want to be swilling
in company. Afraid to be alone like a child of
two. Suppose he hit me. Look at it other
way round. Not so bad then. Perhaps not
to hurt he meant. Three cheers for Israel.
Three cheers for the sister-in-law he hawked about,
three fangs in her mouth. Same style of beauty.
Particularly nice old party for a cup of tea.
The sister of the wife of the wild man of Borneo has
just come to town. Imagine that in the early
morning at close range. Everyone to his taste
as Morris said when he kissed the cow. But Dignam’s
put the boots on it. Houses of mourning so depressing
because you never know. Anyhow she wants the
money. Must call to those Scottish Widows as I
promised. Strange name. Takes it for granted
we’re going to pop off first. That widow
on Monday was it outside Cramer’s that looked
at me. Buried the poor husband but progressing
favourably on the premium. Her widow’s mite.
Well? What do you expect her to do? Must
wheedle her way along. Widower I hate to see.
Looks so forlorn. Poor man O’Connor wife
and five children poisoned by mussels here. The
sewage. Hopeless. Some good matronly woman
in a porkpie hat to mother him. Take him in tow,
platter face and a large apron. Ladies’
grey flannelette bloomers, three shillings a pair,
astonishing bargain. Plain and loved, loved for
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