m their
mouths a volleyed fart. Laughter of men from the lane. A hoarse virago
retorts.)_

THE VIRAGO: Signs on you, hairy arse. More power the Cavan girl.

CISSY CAFFREY: More luck to me. Cavan, Cootehill and Belturbet. _(She
sings)_

_I gave it to Nelly
To stick in her belly,
The leg of the duck,
The leg of the duck._

_(Private Carr and Private Compton turn and counterretort, their tunics
bloodbright in a lampglow, black sockets of caps on their blond cropped
polls. Stephen Dedalus and Lynch pass through the crowd close to the
redcoats.)_

PRIVATE COMPTON: _(Jerks his finger)_ Way for the parson.

PRIVATE CARR: _(Turns and calls)_ What ho, parson!

CISSY CAFFREY: _(Her voice soaring higher)_

_She has it, she got it,
Wherever she put it,
The leg of the duck._

_(Stephen, flourishing the ashplant in his left hand, chants with joy
the_ introit _for paschal time. Lynch, his jockeycap low on his brow,
attends him, a sneer of discontent wrinkling his face.)_

STEPHEN: _Vidi aquam egredientem de templo a latere dextro. Alleluia_.

_(The famished snaggletusks of an elderly bawd protrude from a
doorway.)_

THE BAWD: _(Her voice whispering huskily)_ Sst! Come here till I tell
you. Maidenhead inside. Sst!

STEPHEN: _(Altius aliquantulum) Et omnes ad quos pervenit aqua ista_.

THE BAWD: _(Spits in their trail her jet of venom)_ Trinity medicals.
Fallopian tube. All prick and no pence.

_(Edy Boardman, sniffling, crouched with bertha supple, draws her shawl
across her nostrils.)_

EDY BOARDMAN: _(Bickering)_ And says the one: I seen you up Faithful
place with your squarepusher, the greaser off the railway, in his
cometobed hat. Did you, says I. That's not for you to say, says I. You
never seen me in the mantrap with a married highlander, says I. The
likes of her! Stag that one is! Stubborn as a mule! And her walking with
two fellows the one time, Kilbride, the enginedriver, and lancecorporal
Oliphant.

STEPHEN: _(Ttriumphaliter) Salvi facti sunt._

_(He flourishes his ashplant, shivering the lamp image, shattering light
over the world. A liver and white spaniel on the prowl slinks after him,
growling. Lynch scares it with a kick.)_

LYNCH: So that?

STEPHEN: (_Looks behind_) So that gesture, not music not odour, would be
a universal language, the gift of tongues rendering visible not the lay
sense but the first entelechy, the structural rhythm.

LYNCH: Pornosophi