over you you cant help yourself I wish some man or other would take me
sometime when hes there and kiss me in his arms theres nothing like a kiss
long and hot down to your soul almost paralyses you then I hate that
confession when I used to go to Father Corrigan he touched me father and
what harm if he did where and I said on the canal bank like a fool but
whereabouts on your person my child on the leg behind high up was it
yes rather high up was it where you sit down yes O Lord couldnt he say bottom
right out and have done with it what has that got to do with it and did
you whatever way he put it I forget no father and I always think of the
real father what did he want to know for when I already confessed it to God
he had a nice fat hand the palm moist always I wouldnt mind feeling it neither
would he Id say by the bullneck in his horsecollar I wonder did he know
me in the box I could see his face he couldnt see mine of course hed never
turn or let on still his eyes were red when his father died theyre lost for a
woman of course must be terrible when a man cries let alone them Id like
to be embraced by one in his vestments and the smell of incense off him like
the pope besides theres no danger with a priest if youre married hes too
careful about himself then give something to H H the pope for a penance
I wonder was he satisfied with me one thing I didnt like his slapping me behind
going away so familiarly in the hall though I laughed Im not a horse or an ass
am I I suppose he was thinking of his father I wonder is he awake thinking of
me or dreaming am I in it who gave him that flower he said he bought he
smelt of some kind of drink not whisky or stout or perhaps the sweety kind
of paste they stick their bills up with some liquor Id like to sip those richlooking
green and yellow expensive drinks those stagedoor johnnies drink with the
opera hats I tasted once with my finger dipped out of that American that had
the squirrel talking stamps with father he had all he could do to keep himself
from falling asleep after the last time we took the port and potted meat
it had a fine salty taste yes because I felt lovely and tired myself and fell
asleep as sound as a top the moment I popped straight into bed till that
thunder woke me up as if the world was coming to an end God be
merciful to us I thought the heavens were coming down about us to punish
when I blessed myself and said a Hail Mary like those awful thunderbolts in
Gibraltar and they come and tell you theres no God what could you do if
it was running and rushing about nothing only make an act of contrition the
candle I lit that evening in Whitefriars street chapel for the month of May see it
brought its luck though hed scoff if he heard because he never goes to church
Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/696
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