STATELY, PLUMP BUCK MULLIGAN CAME FROM THE STAIRHEAD, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet, laughing to himself. He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried: - Will he come?
A yellow dressing gown, ungirdled, was sustained gently-behind him by the mild morning air. He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering about his legs the loose folds of his gown. 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. - My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls.
A flush which made him seem younger and more engaging rose to Buck Mulligan's cheek.
- You said, Stephen answered, O, it's only Dedalus whose mother is beastly dead.
Young shouts of moneyed voices in Clive Kempthorpe's rooms. With slit ribbons of his shirt whipping the air he hops and hobbles round the table, with trousers down at heels, chased by Ades of Magdalen with the tailor's shears.
If he makes any noise here I'll bring down Seymour and we'll give him a ragging worse than they gave Clive Kempthorpe. A deaf gardener, aproned, masked with Matthew Arnold's face, pushes his mower on the sombre lawn watching narrowly the dancing motes of grasshalms.
He shaved evenly and with care, in silence, seriously. - That fellow I was with in the Ship last night, said Buck Mulligan, says you have g.p.i. His curling shaven lips laughed and the edges of his white glittering teeth.
- He can't wear them, Buck Mulligan told his face in the mirror. He kills his mother but he can't wear grey trousers. The cracked lookingglass of a Buck Mulligan suddenly linked his arm in Stephen's and walked with him round the tower, his razor and mirror clacking in the pocket where he had thrust them. His old fellow made his tin by selling jalap to Zulus or some bloody swindle or other. Shouts from the open window startling evening in the quadrangle. They halted, looking towards the blunt cape of Bray Head that lay on the water like the snout of a sleeping whale. Stephen, depressed by his own voice, said: - Do you remember the first day I went to your house after my mother's death? A light wind passed his brow, fanning softly his fair uncombed hair and stirring silver points of anxiety in his eyes. 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. He broke off and lathered again lightly his farther cheek. Pain, that was not yet the pain of love, fretted his heart. Buck Mulligan attacked the hollow beneath his underlip. Stephen, an elbow rested on the jagged granite, leaned his palm against his brow and gazed at the fraying edge of his shiny black coat-sleeve. Your mother and some visitor came out of the drawingroom. - You were making tea, Stephen said, and I went across the landing to get more hot water.