The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 055
His hand took his hat from the peg over his initialled heavy overcoat, and
his lost property office secondhand waterproof. Stamps : stickyback pictures.
Daresay lots of officers are in the swim too. Course they do. The sweated
legend in the crown of his hat told him mutely : Plasto’s high grade ha.
He peeped quickly inside the leather headband. White slip of paper. Quite safe.
On the doorstep he felt in his hip pocket for the latchkey. Not there. In
the trousers I left off must get it. Potato I have. Creaky wardrobe. No use
disturbing her. She turned over sleepily that time. He pulled the halldoor to
after him very quietly, more, till the footleaf dropped gently over rhe
threshold, a limp lid. Looked shut. All right till I come back anyhow.
He crossed to the bright side, avoiding the loose cellarflap of number
seventyfive. The sun was nearing the steeple of George’s church. Be a warm
day I fancy. Specially in these black clothes feel it more. Black conducts,
reflects (refracts is it?), the heat. But I couldn’t go in that light suit. Make
a picnic of it. His eyelids sank quietly often as he walked in happy
warmth. Boland’s breadvan delivering with trays our daily but she prefers
yesterday’s loaves turnovers crisp crowns hot. Makes you feel young.
Somewhere in the east : early morning : set off at dawn, travel round in
front of the sun steal a day’s march on him. Keep it up for ever never grow a
day older technically. Walk along a strand, strange land, come to a city gate,
sentry there, old ranker too, old Tweedy’s big moustaches leaning on a long
kind of a spear. Wander through awned streets. Turbaned faces going by. Dark
caves of carpet shops, big man, Turko the terrible, seated crosslegged smoking
a coiled pipe. Cries of sellers in the streets. Drink water scented with fennel,
sherbet. Wander along all day. Might meet a robber or two. Well, meet
him. Getting on to sundown. The shadows of the mosques along the
pillars : priest with a scroll rolled up. A shiver of the trees, signal, the evening
wind. I pass on. Fading gold sky. A mother watches from her doorway. She
calls her children home in their dark language. High wall : beyond strings
twanged. Night sky moon, violet, colour of Molly’s new garters. Strings. Listen. A
girl playing one of those instruments what do you call them : dulcimers. I pass.
Probably not a bit like it really. Kind of stuff you read : in the track of
the sun. Sunburst on the titlepage. He smiled, pleasing himself. What Arthur
Griffith said about the headpiece over the Freeman leader : a homerule sun
rising up in the northwest from the laneway behind the bank of Ireland. He
prolonged his pleased smile. Ikey touch that : homerule sun rising up in the
northwest.