"Joyce, James - Ulysses v1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Joyce James)

He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:
-- Will he come? The jejune jesuit!
Ceasing, he began to shave with care.
-- Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.
-- Yes, my love?
-- How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?
Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.
-- God, isn't he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He thinks
you're not a gentleman. God, these bloody English! Bursting with money
and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus, you
have the real Oxford manner. He can't make you out. O, my name for you
is the best: Kinch, the knifeblade.
He shaved warily over his chin.
-- He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is his
guncase?
-- A woful lunatic! Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?
-- I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the dark
with a man I don't know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a
black panther. You saved men from drowning. I'm not a hero, however. If
he stays on here I am off.
Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped
down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.
-- Scutter! he cried thickly.
He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen's
upper pocket, said:
-- Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.
Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a
dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly.
Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:
-- The bard's noserag! A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen. You
can almost taste it, can't you?
He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his
fair oakpale hair stirring slightly.
-- God! he said quietly. Isn't the sea what Algy calls it: a great sweet
mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. Epi oinopa ponton.
Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks! I must teach you. You must read them in the


original. Thalatta! Thalatta! She is our great sweet mother. Come and
look.
Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he
looked down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbourmouth
of Kingstown.
-- Our mighty mother! Buck Mulligan said.
He turned abruptly his grey searching eyes from the sea to Stephen's
face.
-- The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That's why she won't let
me have anything to do with you.
-- Someone killed her, Stephen said gloomily.
-- You could have knelt down, damn it, Kinch, when your dying mother