Ulysses by James Joyce, deep male voice, english literature
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Ulysses by James Joyce. Chapter one Telemachus. Stately, plump buck Mulligan came from the stair head bearing a bowl of lather, on which a mirror and razor lay crossed. A yellow dressing ground, ungh girdled was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air he held the ball off and intoned intro. E Bad out our day, halted. He peered down the dark, windy stairs, and called out coarsely, Come up, Kinch! Come up, you fearful Jesuit solemnly. He came forward and mounted the round gun rest. He faced about, and blessed gravely, thrice, the tower, the surrounding land and awakening 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 top of the staircase, and looked coldly at the shaking gurgling face that blessed him equine in its length, and at the light until richard hair, grained and huge like pale oak buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror, and then covered the bowl smartly back to the barracks, he said sternly, he added in a preacher's tone. For this. Oh, dearly, beloved, is the genuine Christine body and soul and blood and hounds. Slow music. Please shut your eyes gents. One moment. A little trouble about the white corpuscles! Silence all! He peered sideways up and gave a long, slow whistle of call. Then paused awhile 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 gun rest, looked gravely at the watcher, gathering about his legs with the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face in his sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate patron of the arts in the Middle Ages. A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips. The mockery of it! He said, gaily, Your absurd name in ancient greek! He pointed his fingers and friendly jest, and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up and followed him wearily halfway, and sat down on the edge of the gun rest, watching him still as he propped his mirror on the parapet, dip the brush in the bow and lathered cheek and neck buck, Mulligan's *** voice went on. My name is absurd to Malachi Mulligan. Two dactyls. But it has a Hellenic rain, hasn't it, trippy and sunny like the buck himself. We must go to Athens! Will you come if I get the aunt to fork out 20 quid! He laid the brush aside, and laughing with the light! 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. Dateless. You have the real Oxford matter. 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 gun case? A woeful 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'm off buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razor blade. He hopped down from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily scudder! He cried thickly. He came over to the gun rest and thrusting a hand into steven's upper pocket, said, lend us alone of your nose rag. To wipe my razor steven suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner A dirty crumpled handkerchief buck Mulligan wiped the razor blade neatly. Then gazing over the handkerchief, he said. The bard's nose rag. A new art color for our irish poets. Snot green. You can almost taste it, can't you? He mounted to the parapet again, and gaze out over Dublin bay, His fair Lokpal hair, stirring slightly. God! He said quietly, Isn't the see what algae calls it? A great sweet mother, the snot green sea, the scrotum tightening sea epi ne pas pontoon. Dateless the Greeks. I must teach you. You must read them in the original. A lotta. A lotta. This 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 mail boat, clearing the harbor mouth of Kingstown. Our mighty mother buck, Mulligan said. He turned abruptly, his gray eyes searching from the sea to steven's face. The aunt thinks you killed your mother, he said. That's why she won't let me have anything to do with you. Someone killed her, Stephen said gloomily, You could have knelt down. Damn it, Kinch! When your dying mother asked you buck, Mulligan said, I'm hyper Boeri! Inasmuch as you! But to think of your mother begging you with her last breath to kneel down and pray for her, and you refused! There is something sinister in you! He broke off and lathered again lightly. His further cheek. A tolerant smile curled his lips, but a lovely mum. Er he murmured to himself, Kinch! The loveliest murmur of them all