829 : His goggle eye

Shrill shriek of laughter sprang from miss Kennedy’s throat. Miss Douce huffed and snorted down her nostrils that quivered imperthnthn like a snout in quest.

— O! shrieking, miss Kennedy cried. Will you ever forget his goggle eye ?

Miss Douce chimed in in deep bronze laughter, shouting:

— And your other eye !

Bloowhose dark eye read Aaron Figatner’s name. Why do I always think Figather ? Gathering figs, I think. And Prosper Lore’s huguenot name. By Bassi’s blessed virgins Bloom’s dark eyes went by. Bluerobed, white under, come to me. God they believe she is: or goddess. Those today. I could not see. That fellow spoke. A student. After with Dedalus’ son. He might be Mulligan. All comely virgins. That brings those rakes of fellows in: her white.

By went his eyes. The sweets of sin. Sweet are the sweets.

Of sin.

In a giggling peal young goldbronze voices blended, Douce with Kennedy your other eye. They threw young heads back, bronze gigglegold, to let freefly their laughter, screaming, your other, signals to each other,    high piercing notes.

Ah, panting, sighing, sighing, ah, fordone, their mirth died down.

Miss Kennedy lipped her cup again, raised, drank a sip and gigglegiggled. Miss Douce, bending over the teatray, ruffled again her nose and rolled droll fattened eyes. Again Kennygiggles, stooping, her fair pinnacles of hair, stooping, her tortoise napecomb showed, spluttered out of her mouth her tea, choking in tea and laughter, coughing with choking, crying:

— O greasy eyes ! Imagine being married to a man like that ! she cried. With his bit of beard ! 

Douce gave full vent to a splendid yell, a full yell of full woman, delight, joy, indignation.

— Married to the greasy nose ! she yelled.

Shrill, with deep laughter, after, gold after bronze, they urged each each to peal after peal, ringing in changes, bronzegold, goldbronze, shrilldeep, to laughter after laughter. And then laughed more. Greasy I knows. Exhausted, breathless, their shaken heads they laid, braided and pinnacled by glossycombed, against the counterledge. All flushed (O !), panting, sweating (O !), all breathless.

Married to Bloom, to greaseabloom.

— O saints above ! miss Douce said, sighed above her jumping rose. I wished I hadn’t laughed so much. I feel all wet.

(...)

James Joyce, Ulysse. Editions Le Livre de Poche n°1435-1436-1437, 1968, p.248.

Bibliothèque de la Pléiade, 1991, p.292.

Nouvelle Traduction aux Editions Gallimard (sortie 10/06/2004), p.324.

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