Nutrition Facts - Nadeem Haidary

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Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Doublebasses, helpless,
gashes in their sides. Woodwinds mooing cows. Semigrand open
crocodile music hath jaws. Woodwind like Goodwin's name.
She looked �ne. Her crocus dress she wore, lowcut, belongings
on show. Clove her breath was always in theatre when she bent
to ask a question. Told her what Spinoza says in that book of
poor papa's. Hypnotised, listening. Eyes like that. She bent. Chap
in dresscircle, staring down into her with his operaglass for all he
was worth. Beauty of music you must hear twice. Nature woman
half a look. God made the country man the tune. Met him pike
hoses. Philosophy. O rocks!
All gone. All fallen. At the siege of Ross his father, at Gorey all his
brothers fell. To Wexford, we are the boys of Wexford, he would.
Last of his name and race.
I too, last my race. Milly young student. Well, my fault perhaps.
No son. Rudy. Too late now. Or if not? If not? If still?
He bore no hate.
Hate. Love. Those are names. Rudy. Soon I am old.
Big Ben his voice unfolded. Great voice, Richie Goulding said, a
�ush struggling in his pale, to Bloom, soon old but when was
young.
Ireland comes now. My country above the King. She listens. Who
fears to speak of nineteen four? Time to be shoving. Looked
enough.
-- Bless me, father, Dollard the croppy cried. Bless me and let me
go.
Tap.
Bloom looked, unblessed to go. Got up to kill: on eighteen bob a
week. Fellows shell out the dibs. Want to keep your weathereye
open. Those girls, those lovely. By the sad sea waves. Chorusgirl's
romance. Letters read out for breach of promise. From Chicka-
273
PROMPT ACTIVE READING MARGIN
5
Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Doublebasses, helpless,
gashes in their sides. Woodwinds mooing cows. Semigrand open
crocodile music hath jaws. Woodwind like Goodwin's name.
She looked �ne. Her crocus dress she wore, lowcut, belongings
on show. Clove her breath was always in theatre when she bent
to ask a question. Told her what Spinoza says in that book of
poor papa's. Hypnotised, listening. Eyes like that. She bent. Chap
in dresscircle, staring down into her with his operaglass for all he
was worth. Beauty of music you must hear twice. Nature woman
half a look. God made the country man the tune. Met him pike
hoses. Philosophy. O rocks!
All gone. All fallen. At the siege of Ross his father, at Gorey all his
brothers fell. To Wexford, we are the boys of Wexford, he would.
Last of his name and race.
I too, last my race. Milly young student. Well, my fault perhaps.
No son. Rudy. Too late now. Or if not? If not? If still?
He bore no hate.
Hate. Love. Those are names. Rudy. Soon I am old.
Big Ben his voice unfolded. Great voice, Richie Goulding said, a
�ush struggling in his pale, to Bloom, soon old but when was
young.
Ireland comes now. My country above the King. She listens. Who
fears to speak of nineteen four? Time to be shoving. Looked
enough.
-- Bless me, father, Dollard the croppy cried. Bless me and let me
go.
Tap.
Bloom looked, unblessed to go. Got up to kill: on eighteen bob a
week. Fellows shell out the dibs. Want to keep your weathereye
open. Those girls, those lovely. By the sad sea waves. Chorusgirl's
romance. Letters read out for breach of promise. From Chicka-
273
Brasses braying asses through uptrunks. Doublebasses, helpless,
gashes in their sides. Woodwinds mooing cows. Semigrand open
crocodile music hath jaws. Woodwind like Goodwin's name.
She looked �ne. Her crocus dress she wore, lowcut, belongings
on show. Clove her breath was always in theatre when she bent
to ask a question. Told her what Spinoza says in that book of
poor papa's. Hypnotised, listening. Eyes like that. She bent. Chap
in dresscircle, staring down into her with his operaglass for all he
was worth. Beauty of music you must hear twice. Nature woman
half a look. God made the country man the tune. Met him pike
hoses. Philosophy. O rocks!
All gone. All fallen. At the siege of Ross his father, at Gorey all his
brothers fell. To Wexford, we are the boys of Wexford, he would.
Last of his name and race.
I too, last my race. Milly young student. Well, my fault perhaps.
No son. Rudy. Too late now. Or if not? If not? If still?
He bore no hate.
Hate. Love. Those are names. Rudy. Soon I am old.
Big Ben his voice unfolded. Great voice, Richie Goulding said, a
�ush struggling in his pale, to Bloom, soon old but when was
young.
Ireland comes now. My country above the King. She listens. Who
fears to speak of nineteen four? Time to be shoving. Looked
enough.
-- Bless me, father, Dollard the croppy cried. Bless me and let me
go.
Tap.
Bloom looked, unblessed to go. Got up to kill: on eighteen bob a
week. Fellows shell out the dibs. Want to keep your weathereye
open. Those girls, those lovely. By the sad sea waves. Chorusgirl's
romance. Letters read out for breach of promise. From Chicka-
273
SEARCH
DICTIONARY
cro·cus (kroh-kuhs) n.
1 Any of the small, bulbous
plants of the genus Crocus, of
the iris family
2 A deep yellow; saffron.
[ME < L < Gk krókos saffron]
— cro·cused adj.
FICT. CONVERGENCES
WORD SEARCH
SKIP TO PAGE 140
SEARCH
DICTIONARY
FICT. CONVERGENCES
WORD SEARCH
7
Same blue serge dress she had two years ago, the nap bleaching.
Seen its best days. Wispish hair over her ears. And that dowdy
toque: three old grapes to take the harm out of it. Shabby genteel.
She used to be a tasty dresser. Lines round her mouth. Only a
year or so older than Molly.
See the eye that woman gave her, passing. Cruel. The unfair sex.
He looked still at her, holding back behind his look his discontent.
Pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. I'm hungry too.
Flakes of pastry on the gusset of her dress: daub of sugary �our
stuck to her cheek. Rhubarb tart with liberal �llings, rich fruit
interior. Josie Powell that was. In Luke Doyle's long ago,
Dolphin's Barn, the charades. U.p: up.
Change the subject.
-- Do you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy? Mr Bloom asked.
-- Mina Purefoy? she said.
Philip Beaufoy I was thinking. Playgoers' club. Matcham often
thinks of the masterstroke. Did I pull the chain? Yes. The last act.
-- Yes.
-- I just called to ask on the way in is she over it. She's in the
lying-in hospital in Holles street. Dr Horne got her in. She's three
days bad now.
-- O, Mr Bloom said. I'm sorry to hear that.
-- Yes, Mrs Breen said. And a houseful of kids at home. It's a very
stiff birth, the nurse told me.
-- O, Mr Bloom said.
His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. His tongue clacked in
compassion. Dth! Dth!
-- I'm sorry to hear that, he said. Poor thing! Three days! That's
140
Same blue serge dress she had two years ago, the nap bleaching.
Seen its best days. Wispish hair over her ears. And that dowdy
toque: three old grapes to take the harm out of it. Shabby genteel.
She used to be a tasty dresser. Lines round her mouth. Only a
year or so older than Molly.
See the eye that woman gave her, passing. Cruel. The unfair sex.
He looked still at her, holding back behind his look his discontent.
Pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. I'm hungry too.
Flakes of pastry on the gusset of her dress: daub of sugary �our
stuck to her cheek. Rhubarb tart with liberal �llings, rich fruit
interior. Josie Powell that was. In Luke Doyle's long ago,
Dolphin's Barn, the charades. U.p: up.
Change the subject.
-- Do you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy? Mr Bloom asked.
SEARCH
-- Mina Purefoy? she said.
Philip Beaufoy I was thinking. Playgoers' club. Matcham often
thinks of the masterstroke. Did I pull the chain? Yes. The last act.
-- Yes.
-- I just called to ask on the way in is she over it. She's in the
lying-in hospital in Holles street. Dr Horne got her in. She's three
days bad now.
-- O, Mr Bloom said. I'm sorry to hear that. DICTIONARY
cro·cus (kroh-kuhs) n.
-- Yes, Mrs Breen said. And a houseful of kids at home. It's a very
SEARCH
DICTIONARY
cro·cus (kroh-kuhs) n.
1 Any of the small, bulbous
plants of the genus Crocus, of
the iris family
2 A deep yellow; saffron.
[ME < L < Gk krókos saffron]
— cro·cused adj.
FICT. CONVERGENCES
WORD SEARCH
DEFINE “CROCUS” 6
LEFT-HANDED USE
SEARCH
DICTIONARY
cro·cus (kroh-kuhs) n.
1 Any of the small, bulbous
plants of the genus Crocus, of
the iris family
2 A deep yellow; saffron.
stiff birth, the nurse told me.
-- O, Mr Bloom said.
1 Any of the small, bulbous
plants of the genus Crocus, of
the iris family
2 A deep yellow; saffron.
[ME < L < Gk krókos saffron]
— cro·cused Same adj. blue serge dress she had two years ago, the nap bleaching.
Seen its best days. Wispish hair over her ears. And that dowdy
toque: three old grapes to take the harm out of it. Shabby genteel.
FICT. CONVERGENCES
She used to be a tasty dresser. Lines round her mouth. Only a
year or so older than Molly.
See the eye that woman gave her, passing. Cruel. The unfair sex.
He looked still at her, holding back behind his look his discontent.
Pungent mockturtle oxtail mulligatawny. I'm hungry too.
Flakes of pastry on the gusset of her dress: daub of sugary �our
stuck to her cheek. Rhubarb tart with liberal �llings, rich fruit
interior. Josie Powell that was. In Luke Doyle's long ago,
WORD Dolphin's SEARCH Barn, the charades. U.p: up.
Change the subject.
-- Do you ever see anything of Mrs Beaufoy? Mr Bloom asked.
His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. [ME His < L tongue < Gk krókos clacked saffron] in
compassion. Dth! Dth!
— cro·cused adj.
-- Mina Purefoy? she said.
-- I'm sorry to hear that, he said. Poor thing! Three days! That's
FICT. CONVERGENCES
140
Philip Beaufoy I was thinking. Playgoers' club. Matcham often
thinks of the masterstroke. Did I pull the chain? Yes. The last act.
-- Yes.
-- I just called to ask on the way in is she over it. She's in the
lying-in hospital in Holles street. Dr Horne got her in. She's three
days bad now.
-- O, Mr Bloom said. I'm sorry to hear that.
WORD SEARCH
-- Yes, Mrs Breen said. And a houseful of kids at home. It's a very
stiff birth, the nurse told me.
-- O, Mr Bloom said.
His heavy pitying gaze absorbed her news. His tongue clacked in
compassion. Dth! Dth!
-- I'm sorry to hear that, he said. Poor thing! Three days! That's
140