As the day begins, "Gelid light and air were in the
kitchen but out of doors gentle summer morning everywhere.
Made him feel a bit peckish." The iciness of
"gelid" night yields rhymingly to the "gentle" warmth of a
summer day and Bloom's juices begin to flow: "peckish" is
British idiom for hungry. As he walks the streets in happy
warmth, seeking a kidney, thoughts of food and sex cluster
around the sensation: "To smell the gentle smoke of tea, fume
of the pan, sizzling butter. Be near her ample
bedwarmed flesh. Yes, yes." When he enters the
bedroom, "The warmth of her couched body rose on
the air, mingling with the fragrance of the tea she
poured."
The association of warmth and sexual happiness continues
throughout the novel. In Lestrygonians Bloom
remembers the warmth of the marital bed at a time, years
earlier, when he was "Happy. Happy." The shops on Grafton
Street send him into similar reveries: "Sunwarm
silk. . . . A warm human plumpness settled down on his
brain. His brain yielded. . . . Perfumed bodies, warm, full."
Still later in the chapter, he remembers the sexual rapture of
lying with Molly on Howth Hill, and her passing a "seedcake
warm and chewed" into his mouth: "Joy: I ate it:
joy. Young life, her lips that gave me pouting. Soft
warm sticky gumjelly lips. . . . Screened under ferns she
laughed warmfolded."
There are similar images in Wandering Rocks ("Warmth
showered gently over him, cowing his flesh. Flesh
yielded amply amid rumpled clothes"), Sirens ("She
set free sudden in rebound her nipped elastic garter smackwarm
against her smackable a woman's warmhosed thigh," "Flood
of warm jamjam lickitup secretness," "Fill
me. I'm warm, dark, open"), Circe ("The
warm impress of her warm form. Even to sit where a
woman has sat, especially with divaricated thighs, as though
to grant the last favours"), and Ithaca: "the
anticipation of warmth (human) tempered with
coolness (linen)," "adipose anterior and posterior female
hemispheres, redolent of milk and honey and of excretory
sanguine and seminal warmth"). Even the darkness of
Molly's complexion makes Bloom think of the warmth of her
Mediterranean home. In Oxen of the Sun he remembers
how she wore some earrings in the shape of cherries, "bringing
out the foreign warmth of the skin so daintily against
the cool ardent fruit."
Coldness beckons to Bloom from time to time. In Lotus
Eaters, "The cold smell of sacred stone" calls him into
the church. In Lestrygonians he seeks out the "Cold
statues" and quiet of the museum. In Ithaca he
relishes "fresh cold neverchanging everchanging water." But he
ultimately rejects what Circe calls the "stonecold
and pure" demeanor of Greek goddesses, and he registers
the coldness of churches as a foretaste of death. In Hades
he thinks of the mortuary chapel, "Chilly place this." The
grave is similar. The spouse who dies must go "alone, under
the ground: and lie no more in her warm bed."
It is better to "Feel live warm beings near you. Let
them sleep in their maggoty beds. They are not going to get
me this innings. Warm beds: warm fullblooded life."
In the astronomical perspective that the book adopts as a
cosmographic paradigm of modern scientific thinking,
life-producing heat is rare and tenuous. Bloom thinks in Lestrygonians
of "Gasballs spinning about, crossing each other, passing.
Same old dingdong always. Gas: then solid: then world: then
cold: then dead shell drifting around, frozen rock."
Oxen of the Sun broods on "the cold
interstellar wind," and Ithaca on "The
cold of interstellar space, thousands of degrees
below freezing point or the absolute zero of Fahrenheit,
Centigrade or RĂ©aumur." Bloom gets a taste of this
life-snuffing deep freeze when Stephen refuses his invitation
to stay the night, leaving his host with "bellchime and
handtouch and footstep and lonechill."
The revery that Bloom calls up at the end of Lotus Eaters,
a vision of tranquility,
eternity, and fertility charged with echoes of spiritual
fulfillment from both Christianity and Buddhism, centers on "a womb of warmth," with the
bath figuring as a kind of inhabiting of the fecund female
body. At the contrary extreme, the dark vision of old age and
death that afflicts him when the sun disappears in Calypso
registers as a loss of vital corporeal heat: "Dead: an old
woman's: the grey sunken cunt of the world. / Desolation. /
Grey horror seared his flesh. Folding the page into his pocket
he turned into Eccles street, hurrying homeward. Cold
oils slid along his veins, chilling his blood: age
crusting him with a salt cloak."