“Not much really, papa,” David said.
“No,” Thomas Hudson said. “It isn’t much.”
“Andrew never swears in front of mother,” David said.
“Leave me out, David. It’s over, isn’t it, papa?”
“If you boys want to really know how to swear,” young Tom said, “you ought to read Mr. Joyce.”
“I can swear as much as I need,” David said. “At least for now.”
“My friend Mr. Joyce has words and expressions I’d never even heard of. I’ll bet nobody could outswear him in any language.”
“Then after that he made up a whole new language,” Roger said. He was lying on his back on the beach with his eyes closed.
“I can’t understand that new language,” young Tom said. “I guess I’m not old enough for it. But wait until you boys read Ulysses.”
“That’s not for boys,” Thomas Hudson said. “It isn’t really. You couldn’t understand it and you shouldn’t try to. Really. You have to wait till you’re older.”
“I read it all,” young Tom said. “I couldn’t understand practically any of it when I first read it, papa, just as you say. But I kept on reading it and now there’s part of it I really understand and I can explain it to people. It’s certainly made me proud that I was one of Mr. Joyce’s friends.”
“Was he really a friend of Mr. Joyce, papa?” Andrew asked.
“Mr. Joyce always used to ask about him.”
“You’re damn right I was a friend of Mr. Joyce,” young Tom said. “He was one of the best friends I ever had.”
“I don’t think you better explain the book much yet,” Thomas Hudson said. “Not quite yet. What part is it that you explain?”
“The last part. The part where the lady talks out loud to herself.”
“The soliloquy,” David said.
“Have you read it?”
“Oh sure,” David said. “Tommy read it to me.”
“Did he explain it?”
“As well as he could. Some of it’s a little old for both of us.”
“Where did you get hold of it?”
“In the books at home. I borrowed it and took it to school.”
“You what?”
“I used to read passages of it out loud to the boys and tell them how Mr. Joyce was my friend and how much time we used to spend together.”
“How did the boys like it?”
“Some of the more devout boys thought it was a little strong.”
“Did they find out about it at school?”
“Sure. Didn’t you hear, papa? No, I guess that was when you were in Abyssinia. The headmaster was going to expel me but I explained Mr. Joyce was a great writer and a personal friend of mine so finally the headmaster said he’d keep the book and sent it home and I promised I’d consult him before I read anything else to the boys or attempted to explain any classics. First, when he was going to expel me, he thought I had a dirty mind. But I haven’t got a dirty mind, papa. That is, not any dirtier than anybody else’s.”
“Oh yes. He was going to confiscate it but I explained it was a first edition and that Mr. Joyce had written in it for you and that he couldn’t confiscate it because it wasn’t mine. I think he was very disappointed not to confiscate it.”
“When can I read that book by Mr. Joyce, papa?” Andrew asked.
“Not for a long time.”
“But Tommy read it.”
“Tommy is a friend of Mr. Joyce.”
“Boy, I’ll say I am,” said young Tom. “Papa, we never knew Balzac, did we?”
“No. He was before our time.”
“Nor Gautier? I found two swell ones by them at home too. The Droll Stories and Mademoiselle de Maupin. I don’t understand Mademoiselle de Maupin at all yet but I am reading it over to try to and it’s great. But if they weren’t friends of ours I think they would expel me sure if I read them to the boys.”
“How are they, Tommy?” David asked.
“Wonderful. You’ll like them both.”
“Why don’t you consult the headmaster as to whether you can read them to the boys?” Roger said. “They’re better than what the boys will dig up for themselves.”