The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 077
He had reached the open backdoor of All Hallows. Stepping into the porch
he doffed his hat, took the card from his pocket and tucked it again behind the
leather headband. Damn it. I might have tried to work M’Coy for a pass to
Mullingar.
Same notice on the door. Sermon by the very reverend John Conmee
S. J. on saint Peter Claver and the African mission. Save China’s millions.
Wonder how they explain it to the heathen Chinee. Prefer an ounce of opium.
Celestials. Rank heresy for them. Prayers for the conversion of Gladstone
they had too when he was almost unconscious. The protestants the same.
Convert Dr. William. J. Walsh D. D. to the true religion. Buddha their god
lying on his side in the museum. Taking it easy with hand under his cheek.
Josssticks burning. Not like Ecce Homo. Crown of thorns and cross. Clever
idea Saint Patrick the shamrock. Chopsticks? Conmee : Martin Cunningham
knows him : distinguished looking. Sorry I didn’t work him about getting
Molly into the choir instead of that Father Farley who looked a fool but wasn’t.
They’re taught that. He’s not going out in bluey specs whit the sweat rolling
off him to baptise blacks, is he? The glasses would take their fancy, flashing.
Like to see them sitting round in a ring with blub lips, entranced, listening.
Still life. Lap it up like milk, I suppose.
The cold smell of sacred stone called him. He trod the worn steps, pushed
the swingdoor and entered softly by the rere.
Something going on : some sodality. Pity so empty. Nice discreet place
to be next some girl. Who is my neighbour? Jammed by the hour to slow
music. That woman at midnight mass. Seventh heaven. Women knelt in the
benches with crimson halters round their necks, heads bowed. A batch knelt at
the altar rails. The priest went along by them, murmuring, holding the thing in his
hands. He stopped at each, took out a communion, shook a drop or two (are
they in water?) off it and put it neatly into her mouth. Her hat and head sank.
Then the next one : a small old woman. The priest bent down to put it into
her mouth, murmuring all the time. Latin. The next one. Shut your eyes and
open your mouth. What? Corpus. Body. Corpse. Good idea the Latin. Stupe-
fies them first. Hospice for the dying. They don’t seem to chew it; only
swallow it down. Rum idea : eating bits of a corpse why the cannibals cotton
to it.
He stood aside watching their blind masks pass down the aisle, one by
one, and seek their places. He approached a bench and seated himself in its
corner, nursing his hat and newspaper. These pots we have to wear. We ought