The Annotated "Ulysses"/Page 080
Hail Mary and Holy Mary. Flowers, incense, candles melting. Hide her
blushes. Salvation army blatant imitation. Reformed prostitute will address
the meeting. How I found the Lord. Squareheaded chaps those must be in
Rome : they work the whole show. And don’t they rake in the money too?
Bequests also : to the P. P. for the time being in his absolute discretion. Masses
for the repose of my soul to be said publicly with open doors. Monasteries and
convents. The priest in the Fermanagh will case in the witness box. No
browbeating him. He had his answer pat for everything. Liberty and exaltation
of our holy mother the church. The doctors of the church : they mapped
out the whole theology of it.
The priest prayed :
— Blessed Michael, archangel, defend us in the hour of conflict. Be our
safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil (may God restrain him,
we humbly pray) : and do thou, O prince of the heavenly host, by the power
of God thrust Satan down to hell and with him those other wicked spirits
who wander through the world for the ruin of souls.
The priest and the massboy stood up and walked off. All over. The women
remained behind : thanksgiving.
Better be shoving along. Brother Buzz. Come around with the plate
perhaps. Pay your Easter duty.
He stood up. Hello. Were those two buttons of my waistcoat open all
the time. Women enjoy it. Annoyed if you don’t. Why didn’t you tell me
before. Never tell you. But we. Excuse, miss, there’s a (whh!) just a (whh!)
fluff. Or their skirt behind, placket unhooked. Glimpses of the moon. Still like
you better untidy. Good job it wasn’t farther south. He passed, discreetly
buttoning, down the aisle and out through the main door into rhe light. He
stood a moment unseeing by the cold black marble bowl while before him
and behind two worshippers dipped furtive hands in the low tide of holy
water. Trams : a car of Prescott’s dyeworks : a widow in her weeds. Notice
because I’m in mourning myself. He covered himself. How goes the time?
Quarter past. Time enough yet. Better get that lotion made up. Where is
this? Ah yes, the last time. Sweny’s in Lincoln place. Chemists rarely move.
Their green and gold beaconjars too heavy to stir. Hamilton Long’s, founded
in the year of the flood. Huguenot churchyard near there. Visit some day.
He walked southward along Westland row. But the recipe is in the other
trousers. O, and I forgot that latchkey too. Bore this funeral affair. O well,
poor fellow, it’s not his fault. When was it I got it made up last? Wait.