camel, hooded with A TURRETING turban, waits. A silk ladder of
innumerable rungs climbs to his bobbing howdah. He ambles near with
disgruntled hindquarters. Fiercely she slaps his haunch, her GOLDCURB
WRISTBANGLES ANGRILING, scolding him in Moorish.)
Marion: Nebrakada! Femininum!
(The camel, lifting A foreleg,
plucks from A tree A large mango
offers it to his mistress, blinking, in his cloven hoof, then droops his
head and, grunting, with uplifted neck, fumbles to kneel. Bloom Stoops
his back for leapfrog.)
Bloom: I can give you ... I mean as
your business menagerer ... Mrs
Marion ... if you ...
Marion: So you notice some change? (Her hands passing slowly over her trinketed stomacher, A slow friendly mockery in her eyes) O Poldy, Poldy, you are a poor old stick in the mud! Go and see life. See the wide world.
Bloom: I was just going back for that lotion whitewax, orangeflower water. Shop closes early on Thursday. But the first thing in the morning. (He pats divers pockets) This moving kidney. Ah!
(He points to the south,
then to the east. A cake of
new clean lemon soap
arises, diffusing light and perfume.)
We’re a capital couple
are Bloom and I.
He brightens the earth. I polish the sky.
Sweny: Three and a penny, please.
Bloom: Yes. For my wife. Mrs Marion. Special recipe.
Marion: (Softly) Poldy!
Bloom: Yes, ma’am?
Marion: Ti TREMA un poco IL CUORE?
(In disdain she saunters away,
plump as A pampered pouter pigeon,
the duet from Don Giovanni.)
Bloom: Are you sure about that VOGLIO? I mean the pronunciati ...
(He follows, followed by the
sniffing terrier. The elderly
his sleeve, the bristles of her CHINMOLE glittering.)