第16章 尤利西斯 (1)

　　Ulysses

　　小说以时间为顺序，描述了苦闷彷徨的都柏林小

　　市民、广告推销员利奥波德·布卢姆于1904 年6 月

　　16 日一昼夜之内在都柏林的日常经历。乔伊斯将布

　　卢姆在都柏林街头的一日游荡比作奥德修斯海外十年

　　的漂泊，同时刻画了他不忠诚的妻子摩莉以及斯蒂芬

　　寻找精神上的父亲的心理。

　　[ 爱尔兰] 詹姆斯·乔伊斯（James Joyce）

　　尤利西斯

　　Stately，plump Buck Mullingan came from the stainhead，

　　bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.

　　A yellow dressing gown，ungirdled，was sustained gently-behind

　　him by the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

　　Introibo ad altare Dei.

　　Halted，he peered down the dark winding stairs and called

　　up coarsely:

　　“Come up，Kinch. Come up，you fearful jesuit. ”

　　Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest.

　　He faced about and blessed gravely thrice the tower，the

　　surrounding country and the awaking mountains. Then，catching

　　sight of Stephen Dedalus，he bent towards him and made rapid

　　crosses in the air，gurgling in his throat and shaking his head.

　　Stephen Dedalus，displeased and sleepy，leaned his arms on the

　　top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face

　　that blessed him，equine in its length，and at the light untonsured

　　hair，grained and hued like pale oak.

　　Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then

　　covered the bowl smartly.

　　“Back to barracks.”he said sternly.

　　He added in a preacher’s tone:

　　“For this，O dearly beloved，is the genuine Christine: body

　　and soul and blood and ouns. Slow music，please. Shut your

　　eyes，gents. One moment. A little trouble about those white

　　corpuscles. Silence，all. ”

　　He peered sideways up and gave a long low whistle of

　　call，then paused a while in rapt attention，his even white teeth

　　glistening here and there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two

　　strong shrill whistles answered through the calm.

　　“Thanks，old chap，”he cried briskly.“ That will do nicely.

　　Switch off the current，will you? ”

　　He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his

　　watcher，gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown.

　　The plump shadowed face and sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate，

　　patron of arts in the middle ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly

　　over his lips.

　　“The mockery of it.”he said gaily.“ Your absurd name，an

　　ancient Greek. ”

　　He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet，

　　laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up，followed

　　him wearily half way and sat down on the edge of the gunrest，

　　watching him still as he propped his mirror on the parapet，dipped

　　the brush in the bowl and lathered cheeks and neck.

　　Buck Mulligan’s gay voice went on.

　　“My name is absurd too Malachi Mulligan，two dactyls. But

　　it has a Hellenic ring，hasn’t it? Tripping and sunny like the buck

　　himself. We must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the

　　aunt to fork out twenty quid? ”

　　He laid the brush aside and，laughing with delight，cried:

　　“Will he come? The jejune jesuit. ”

　　Ceasing，he began to shave with care.

　　“Tell me，Mulligan.”Stephen said quietly.

　　“Yes，my love? ”

　　“How long is Haines going to stay in this tower? ”

　　Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right

　　shoulder.

　　“God，isn’t he dreadful? ”he said frankly.“ A ponderous

　　Saxon. He thinks you’re not a gentleman God，these bloody

　　English. Bursting with money and indigestion. Because he comes

　　from Oxford You know，Dedalus ；you have the real Oxford

　　manner. He can’t make you out. O，my name for you is the best.

　　Kinch，the knife-blade.”

　　He shaved warily over his chin.

　　“He was raving all night about a black panther，”Stephen

　　said.“ Where is his guncase? ”

　　“A woful lunatic! ”Mulligan said.“ Were you in a funk? ”

　　“I was”，Stephen said with energy and growing fear.“Out

　　here in the dark with a man I don’t know raving and moaning

　　to himself about shooting a black panther. You saved men from

　　drowning. I’m not a hero，however. If he stays on here I am off.”

　　Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He

　　hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser

　　pockets hastily.

　　“Scutter，”he cried thickly.

　　He came over to the gunrest and，thrusting a hand into

　　Stephen’s upper pocket，said:

　　“ Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor. ”

　　Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its

　　corner a dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the

　　razorblade neatly. Then，gazing over the handkerchief，he said:

　　“The bard’s noserag. A new art colour for our Irish poets:

　　snotgreen. You can almost taste it，can’t you? ”

　　He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin

　　bay，his fair oak-pale hair stirring slightly.

　　“God，”he said quietly.“ Isn’t the sea what Algy calls it: a

　　grey sweet mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening

　　sea. Epi oinopa ponton. Ah，Dedalus，the Greeks. I must teach

　　you. You must read them in the original. Thalatta! Thalatta! She is

　　our great sweet mother. Come and look. ”

　　Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on

　　it he looked down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the

　　harbour mouth of Kingstown.

　　“Our mighty mother.”Buck Mulligan said.