A9375774.txt - The clay fell softer Begin to be forgotten...

This preview shows page 1 - 3 out of 5 pages.

The clay fell softer. Begin to be forgotten. Out of sight, out of mind. The caretaker moved away a few paces and put on his hat. Had enough of it. The mourners took heart of grace, one by one, covering themselves without show. Mr Bloom put on his hat and saw the portly figure make its way deftly through the maze of graves. Quietly, sure of his ground, he traversed the dismal fields. Hynes jotting down something in his notebook. Ah, the names. But he knows them all. No: coming to me. I am just taking the names, Hynes said below his breath. What is your christian name? I m not sure. L, Mr Bloom said. Leopold. And you might put down M Coy s name too. He asked me to. Charley, Hynes said writing. I know. He was on the _Freeman_ once. So he was before he got the job in the morgue under Louis Byrne. Good idea a postmortem for doctors. Find out what they imagine they know. He died of a Tuesday. Got the run. Levanted with the cash of a few ads. Charley, you re my darling. That was why he asked me to. O well, does no harm. I saw to that, M Coy. Thanks, old chap: much obliged. Leave him under an obligation: costs nothing. And tell us, Hynes said, do you know that fellow in the, fellow was over there in the... He looked around. Macintosh. Yes, I saw him, Mr Bloom said. Where is he now? M Intosh, Hynes said scribbling. I don t know who he is. Is that his � � name? He moved away, looking about him. No, Mr Bloom began, turning and stopping. I say, Hynes! Didn t hear. What? Where has he disappeared to? Not a sign. Well of all the. Has anybody here seen? Kay ee double ell. Become invisible. Good Lord, what became of him? A seventh gravedigger came beside Mr Bloom to take up an idle spade. O, excuse me! He stepped aside nimbly. Clay, brown, damp, began to be seen in the hole. It rose. Nearly over. A mound of damp clods rose more, rose, and the gravediggers rested their spades. All uncovered again for a few instants. The boy propped his wreath against a corner: the brother-in-law his on a lump. The gravediggers put on their caps and carried their earthy spades towards the barrow. Then knocked the blades lightly on the turf: clean. One bent to pluck from the haft a long tuft of grass. One, leaving his mates, walked slowly on with shouldered weapon, its blade blueglancing.
Silently at the gravehead another coiled the coffinband. His navelcord. The brother-in-law, turning away, placed something in his free hand. Thanks in silence. Sorry, sir: trouble. Headshake. I know that. For yourselves just.

  • Left Quote Icon

    Student Picture

  • Left Quote Icon

    Student Picture

  • Left Quote Icon

    Student Picture