Balls

	Stephen enters a bookshop. Hugh is the assistant.
	Stephen stares at Hugh for a long time.


Hugh		Help you?

Stephen		(Holding up a book) Did you write this?

Hugh		(Examining book) Jane Eyre. No, that was Charlotte
		Bronte as a matter of fact.

Stephen		Right. Well I'd like to see her then please.

Hugh		I'm afraid she's no longer with us.

Stephen		Oh? Indeed? I can hardly say I'm surprised. Where
		can I get in touch with her?

Hugh		No, no. I mean "no longer with us" in the sense
		of "dead".

Stephen		Dead?

Hugh		Quite dead.

Stephen		When did she die exactly?

Hugh		Um ... 1855 I believe I'm right in saying.

Stephen		Let me see, 1855, that's five minutes to seven, isn't it?

Hugh		I'm sorry. I mean "1855" in the sense of the year
		"1855". Was there some problem?

Stephen		Well you'll have to do I suppose, since you sold
		me the book. I want my money back.

Hugh		Do you mind me asking why?

Stephen		I'll tell you why. Because this book is balls, that's
		why. It is complete balls.

Hugh		I'm afraid I really can't agree with you there.

Stephen		Oh can't you? Well listen to this then ... (riffles 
		through book and selects a passage) "I mounted into
		the window-seat: gathering up my feet, I sat
		cross-legged, like a Turk." I mean???? It's just
		balls.

Hugh		Balls in what sense?

Stephen		Balls in the sense of balls. I mean "window-seat"?
		What window-seat? This is on the first page. Window
		seat. Where is this window seat, hm? What's it doing?
		And what Turk? I've never seen a Turk mount a
		window-seat. Simply balls. Nothing but balls.

Hugh		Well I think you're supposed to imagine it.

Stephen		Ho? All right, then, all right then: what about
		this ... um ... chapter thirty-eight ... "Reader, I
		married him." Now if that isn't balls, kindly fax me
		an explanation of what is. "Reader"? What reader? Or
		are you supposed to imagine this reader as well?

Hugh		No, that's you. It's addressed to you, the reader
		of the book.

Stephen		OH BALLS. How could she know me? You just
		told me the stupid tart died at five to seven.

Hugh		Well not you specifically. I mean whoever is reading it
		at the time. Jane Eyre is telling you that she married
		Mr Rochester.

Stephen		Jane Eyre is a made-up character! Kyor! She
		didn't exist.

Hugh		No but she writes the story. She is the "I" of the story.

Stephen		MAKE YOUR FRIGGING MIND UP. You just
		told me Charlotte Bronte wrote the story.

Hugh		She did ... but ...

Stephen		Well you're clearly as confused as I am. It's just
		balls and you know it. Complete balls. I want my
		money back. I want to read a book that doesn't go
		on about window-seats you've never even heard of
		and then has some mad bitch who's supposed to be
		dead calling you "reader" all the time.

Hugh		What about this ... proving very popular.

	Hugh hands Stephen a book.

Stephen		What's this?

Hugh		The Invalid by Myra Penworthy Fennerweave.

Stephen		Any good?

Hugh		Excellent.

	Stephen starts to read.

Stephen		"Talbot entered the room in a feverish haste,
		bearing his precious cargo before him like a votive
		offering. Elizabeth lay back on her bed, her face pale
		and pinched. "Richard is that you?" she moaned
		plaintively." Oh this is just complete BALLS! Balls,
		balls, balls.

Hugh		It's not actually. It's true. It actually happened.

Stephen		Oh double balls and bollocks.

Hugh		I just wish they hadn't called it the
		Common Market. Is that snobbish
		of me? I mean why not the Nice 
		Market. It would be so much nicer.