The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 059
No, not like that. A barren land, bare waste. Vulcanic lake, the dead sea :
no fish, weedless, sunk deep in the earth. No wind would lift those waves, grey
metal, poisonous foggy waters. Brimstone they called it raining down : the
cities of the plain : Sodom, Gomorrah, Edom. All dead names. A dead sea in
a dead land, grey and old. Old now. It bore the oldest, the first race. A
bent hag crossed from Cassidy’s clutching a noggin bottle by the neck. The
oldest people. Wandered far away over all the earth, captivity to captivity,
multiplying, dying, being born everywhere. It lay there now. Now it could
bear no more. Dead : an old woman’s : the grey sunken cunt of the world.
Desolation.
Grey horror seared his ftesh. Folding the page into his pocket he turned
into Eccles’ Street, hurrying homeward. Cold oils slid along his veins, chilling
his blood : age crusting him with a salt cloak. Well, I am here now. Morning
mouth bad images. Got up wrong side of the bed. Must begin again those
Sandow’s exercises. On the hands down. Blotchy brown brick houses. Number
eighty still unlet. Why is that? Valuation is only twentyeight. Towers,
Battersby, North, MacArthur : parlour windows plastered with bills. Plasters on
a sore eye. To smell the gentle smoke of tea, fume of the pan, sizzling butter.
Be near her ample bedwarmed flesh. Yes, yes.
Quick warm sunlight came running from Berkeley Road, swiftly, in slim
sandals, along the brightening footpath. Runs, she runs to meet me, a girl with
gold hair on the wind.
Two letters and a card lay on the hallfloor. He stopped and gathered them.
Mrs Marion Bloom. His quick heart slowed at once. Bold hand. Mrs Marion.
— Poldy!
Entering the bedroom he halfclosed his eyes and walked through warm
yellow twilight towards her tousled head.
— Who are the letters for?
He looked at them. Mullingar. Milly.
— A letter for me from Milly, he said carefully, and a card to you. And
a letter for you.
He laid her card and letter on the twill bedspread near the curve of her knees.
— Do you want the blind up?
Letting the blind up by gentle tugs halfway his backward eye saw her
glance at the letter and tuck it under her pillow.
— That do? he asked, turning.
She was reading the card, propped on her elbow.