hillaphulla Poulaphouca
Poulaphouca Poulaphouca._

THE YEWS: Ssh! Sister, speak!

THE NYMPH: _(Eyeless, in nun's white habit, coif and hugewinged wimple,
softly, with remote eyes)_ Tranquilla convent. Sister Agatha. Mount
Carmel. The apparitions of Knock and Lourdes. No more desire. _(She
reclines her head, sighing)_ Only the ethereal. Where dreamy creamy gull
waves o'er the waters dull.

_(Bloom half rises. His back trouserbutton snaps.)_

THE BUTTON: Bip!

_(Two sluts of the coombe dance rainily by, shawled, yelling flatly.)_

THE SLUTS:

O, Leopold lost the pin of his drawers
He didn't know what to do,
To keep it up,
To keep it up.

BLOOM: _(Coldly)_ You have broken the spell. The last straw. If there
were only ethereal where would you all be, postulants and novices? Shy
but willing like an ass pissing.

THE YEWS: _(Their silverfoil of leaves precipitating, their skinny arms
aging and swaying)_ Deciduously!

THE NYMPH: _(Her features hardening, gropes in the folds of her habit)_
Sacrilege! To attempt my virtue! _(A large moist stain appears on her
robe)_ Sully my innocence! You are not fit to touch the garment of a
pure woman. _(She clutches again in her robe)_ Wait. Satan, you'll sing
no more lovesongs. Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. _(She draws a poniard and,
clad in the sheathmail of an elected knight of nine, strikes at his
loins)_ Nekum!

BLOOM: _(Starts up, seizes her hand)_ Hoy! Nebrakada! Cat o' nine lives!
Fair play, madam. No pruningknife. The fox and the grapes, is it? What
do you lack with your barbed wire? Crucifix not thick enough? _(He
clutches her veil)_ A holy abbot you want or Brophy, the lame gardener,
or the spoutless statue of the watercarrier, or good mother Alphonsus,
eh Reynard?

THE NYMPH: _(With a cry flees from him unveiled, her plaster cast
cracking, a cloud of stench escaping from the cracks)_ Poli...!

BLOOM: _(Calls after her)_ As if you didn't get it on the double
yourselves. No jerks and multiple mucosities all over you. I tried it.
Your strength our weakness. What's our studfee? What will you pay on
the nail? You fee mendancers on the Riviera, I read. _(The fleeing nymph
raises a keen)_ Eh? I have sixteen years of black slave labour behind
me. And would a jury give me five shillings alimony tomorrow, eh? Fool
someone else, not me. _(He sniffs)_ Rut. Onions. Stale. Sulphur. Grease.

_(The figure of Bella Cohen stands before him.)_

BELLA: You'll