Give a thing and take it back
God’ll ask you where is that
You’ll say you don’t know
God’ll send you down below.
BLOOM: There is a memory attached to it. I should like to have it.
STEPHEN: To have or not to have that is the question.
ZOE: Here. _(She hauls up a reef of her slip, revealing her bare thigh,
and unrolls the potato from the top of her stocking.)_ Those that hides
knows where to find.
BELLA: _(Frowns.)_ Here. This isn’t a musical peepshow. And don’t you
smash that piano. Who’s paying here?
_(She goes to the pianola. Stephen fumbles in his pocket and, taking
out a banknote by its corner, hands it to her.)_
STEPHEN: _(With exaggerated politeness.)_ This silken purse I made out
of the sow’s ear of the public. Madam, excuse me. If you allow me. _(He
indicates vaguely Lynch and Bloom.)_ We are all in the same sweepstake,
Kinch and Lynch. _Dans ce bordel où tenons nostre état_.
LYNCH: _(Calls from the hearth.)_ Dedalus! Give her your blessing for
me.
STEPHEN: _(Hands Bella a coin.)_ Gold. She has it.
BELLA: _(Looks at the money, then at Stephen, then at Zoe, Florry and
Kitty.)_ Do you want three girls? It’s ten shillings here.
STEPHEN: _(Delightedly.)_ A hundred thousand apologies. _(He fumbles
again and takes out and hands her two crowns.)_ Permit, _brevi manu_,
my sight is somewhat troubled.
_(Bella goes to the table to count the money while Stephen talks to
himself in monosyllables. Zoe bends over the table. Kitty leans over
Zoe’s neck. Lynch gets up, rights his cap and, clasping Kitty’s waist,
adds his head to the group.)_
FLORRY: _(Strives heavily to rise.)_ Ow! My foot’s asleep. _(She limps
over to the table. Bloom approaches.)_
BELLA, ZOE, KITTY, LYNCH, BLOOM: _(Chattering and squabbling.)_ The
gentleman... ten shillings... paying for the three... allow me a
moment... this gentleman pays separate... who’s touching it?... ow! ...
mind who you’re pinching... are you staying the night or a short
time?... who did?... you’re a liar, excuse me... the gentleman paid
down like a gentleman... drink... it’s long after eleven.
STEPHEN: _(At the pianola, making a gesture of abhorrence.)_ No
bottles! What, eleven? A riddle!
ZOE: _(Lifting up her pettigown and folding a half sovereign into the
top of her stocking.)_ Hard earned on the flat of my back.
LYNCH: _(Lifting Kitty from the table.)_ Come!