Gemini.Finnegans.Wake.14

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Hop!
In the name of Anem this carl on the kopje in pelted thongs a parth a lone who the joebiggar be he? Forshapen his pigmaid hoagshead, shroonk his plodsfoot. He hath locktoes, this shortshins, and , Obeold that’s pectoral, his mammamuscles most mousterious. It is slaking nuncheon out of some thing’s brain pan. Me seemeth a dragon man He is almonthst on the kiep fief by here, is Comestipple Sacksoun, be it junipery or febrewery, marracks or alebrill or the ramping riots of pouriose and froriose. What a quhare soort of a mahan. It is evident the michindaddy. Lets we overstep his fire defences and these kraals of slitsucked marrogbones. (Cave!) He can prapsposterus the pillory way to Hirculos pillar. Come on, fool porterfull, hosiered women blown monk sewer? Scuse us, Chorley guy! You tollerday donsk? N. You phonio saxo? Nnnn. Clear all so! ‘Tis a Jute. Let us swop hats and excheck a few strong verbs weak oach eather yapyazzard abast the blooty creeks.

As Wednesday night continues, we are abruptly thrown into a new scene. The perspective shifts to two observers who have just stumbled upon a strange, primitive man on a hill.

The Man on the Hill

The observers ask, who the joebiggar be he?. This figure is a strange and contradictory being:

  • Appearance: He is dressed in animal skins (pelted thongs). His head is misshapen (Forshapen his pigmaid hoagshead), and his body is a mysterious blend of male and female traits (his mammamuscles most mousterious).
  • Habits: He is a scavenger, eating his lunch (slaking nuncheon) from a skull (brain pan), surrounded by enclosures (kraals) of gnawed marrowbones.
  • Identity: He is called Comestipple Sacksoun (a Saxon Constable) and identified as the michindaddy—the “mitching” (hiding) daddy. This is HCE, our central character, but in a primitive, outcast form. He is an ancient invader, a “dragon man,” haunting the landscape.

First Contact

The two observers (representing the rival sons, Shem and Shaun) decide to approach this figure. They try to communicate, but language fails:

Scuse us, Chorley guy! You tollerday donsk? N. You phonio saxo? Nnnn.

“Do you speak Danish? No. Do you speak phoney-Saxon? No.”

Unable to understand his speech, they conclude: 'Tis a Jute. He is one of the ancient Germanic tribes who invaded Britain.

The Exchange

Since formal language has failed, they propose a different kind of communication:

Let us swop hats and excheck a few strong verbs weak oach eather…

They decide to trade hats, a gesture of peace or a cultural exchange, and then try to communicate using a basic, broken pidgin language—exchanging a few verbs by the “bloody creeks.”

This entire paragraph dramatizes a “first contact” scenario. But the “alien” being encountered is not from another planet; he is our own ancestor, the primitive, almost bestial version of the father figure, HCE. The scene explores the fundamental challenge of how to communicate with our own past when we no longer speak its language.

13/08/2025, P.16.9, to be continued.