Ulysses Part 89

Ah! Ow! Don't be talking! I was blue mouldy for the want of that pint.

Declare to G.o.d I could hear it hit the pit of my stomach with a click.

And lo, as they quaffed their cup of joy, a G.o.dlike messenger came swiftly in, radiant as the eye of heaven, a comely youth and behind him there pa.s.sed an elder of n.o.ble gait and countenance, bearing the sacred scrolls of law and with him his lady wife a dame of peerless lineage, fairest of her race.

Little Alf Bergan popped in round the door and hid behind Barney's snug, squeezed up with the laughing. And who was sitting up there in the corner that I hadn't seen snoring drunk blind to the world only Bob Doran. I didn't know what was up and Alf kept making signs out of the door. And begob what was it only that b.l.o.o.d.y old pantaloon Denis Breen in his bathslippers with two b.l.o.o.d.y big books tucked under his oxter and the wife hotfoot after him, unfortunate wretched woman, trotting like a poodle. I thought Alf would split.

--Look at him, says he. Breen. He's traipsing all round Dublin with a postcard someone sent him with U. p: up on it to take a li...

And he doubled up.

--Take a what? says I.

--Libel action, says he, for ten thousand pounds.

--O h.e.l.l! says I.

The b.l.o.o.d.y mongrel began to growl that'd put the fear of G.o.d in you seeing something was up but the citizen gave him a kick in the ribs.

_--Bi i dho husht,_ says he.

--Who? says Joe.

--Breen, says Alf. He was in John Henry Menton's and then he went round to Collis and Ward's and then Tom Rochford met him and sent him round to the subsheriff's for a lark. O G.o.d, I've a pain laughing. U. p: up. The long fellow gave him an eye as good as a process and now the b.l.o.o.d.y old lunatic is gone round to Green street to look for a G man.

--When is long John going to hang that fellow in Mountjoy? says Joe.

--Bergan, says Bob Doran, waking up. Is that Alf Bergan?

--Yes, says Alf. Hanging? Wait till I show you. Here, Terry, give us a pony. That b.l.o.o.d.y old fool! Ten thousand pounds. You should have seen long John's eye. U. p...

And he started laughing.

--Who are you laughing at? says Bob Doran. Is that Bergan?

--Hurry up, Terry boy, says Alf.

Terence O'Ryan heard him and straightway brought him a crystal cup full of the foamy ebon ale which the n.o.ble twin brothers Bungiveagh and Bungardilaun brew ever in their divine alevats, cunning as the sons of deathless Leda. For they garner the succulent berries of the hop and ma.s.s and sift and bruise and brew them and they mix therewith sour juices and bring the must to the sacred fire and cease not night or day from their toil, those cunning brothers, lords of the vat.

Then did you, chivalrous Terence, hand forth, as to the manner born, that nectarous beverage and you offered the crystal cup to him that thirsted, the soul of chivalry, in beauty akin to the immortals.

But he, the young chief of the O'Bergan's, could ill brook to be outdone in generous deeds but gave therefor with gracious gesture a testoon of costliest bronze. Thereon embossed in excellent smithwork was seen the image of a queen of regal port, scion of the house of Brunswick, Victoria her name, Her Most Excellent Majesty, by grace of G.o.d of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland and of the British dominions beyond the sea, queen, defender of the faith, Empress of India, even she, who bore rule, a victress over many peoples, the wellbeloved, for they knew and loved her from the rising of the sun to the going down thereof, the pale, the dark, the ruddy and the ethiop.

--What's that b.l.o.o.d.y freemason doing, says the citizen, prowling up and down outside?

--What's that? says Joe.

--Here you are, says Alf, chucking out the rhino. Talking about hanging, I'll show you something you never saw. Hangmen's letters. Look at here.

So he took a bundle of wisps of letters and envelopes out of his pocket.

--Are you codding? says I.

--Honest injun, says Alf. Read them.

So Joe took up the letters.

--Who are you laughing at? says Bob Doran.

So I saw there was going to be a bit of a dust Bob's a queer chap when the porter's up in him so says I just to make talk:

--How's w.i.l.l.y Murray those times, Alf?

--I don't know, says Alf I saw him just now in Capel street with Paddy Dignam. Only I was running after that...

--You what? says Joe, throwing down the letters. With who?

--With Dignam, says Alf.

--Is it Paddy? says Joe.

--Yes, says Alf. Why?

--Don't you know he's dead? says Joe.

--Paddy Dignam dead! says Alf.

--Ay, says Joe.

--Sure I'm after seeing him not five minutes ago, says Alf, as plain as a pikestaff.

--Who's dead? says Bob Doran.

--You saw his ghost then, says Joe, G.o.d between us and harm.

--What? says Alf. Good Christ, only five... What?... And w.i.l.l.y Murray with him, the two of them there near whatdoyoucallhim's... What? Dignam dead?

--What about Dignam? says Bob Doran. Who's talking about...?

--Dead! says Alf. He's no more dead than you are.

--Maybe so, says Joe. They took the liberty of burying him this morning anyhow.

--Paddy? says Alf.

--Ay, says Joe. He paid the debt of nature, G.o.d be merciful to him.

--Good Christ! says Alf.