The money-conscious Mr. Deasy brags to Stephen and challenges
him: "I paid my way. I never borrowed a shilling in my
life. Can you feel that? I owe nothing. Can
you?" Mentally ticking through a list of debts, Stephen
acknowledges that he cannot say the same. But the problem is
far worse than Deasy knows: Stephen's debts are compounded by
mad, self-destructive prodigality. He recognizes the problem,
but he cannot help himself, as the succeeding events of June
16 poignantly demonstrate.
Stephen is being paid "three twelve" (£3
12s.) for a month's labor (a good
salary), but he owes more than £25: "Mulligan,
nine pounds, three pairs of socks, one pair brogues, ties.
Curran, ten guineas. McCann, one guinea. Fred Ryan, two
shillings. Temple, two lunches. Russell, one guinea,
Cousins, ten shillings, Bob Reynolds, half a guinea,
Koehler, three guineas, Mrs MacKernan, five weeks' board."
(Most of the people on his list—Constantine Curran, Fred Ryan,
George Russell, James Cousins, T. G. Keller, Mrs. MacKernan,
and possibly Bob Reynolds—are actual Dubliners whom Joyce
knew. McCann and Temple are fictional characters from the last
chapter of A Portrait of the Artist.) Given this
dismal balance sheet, Stephen may well conclude that "The
lump I have is useless." From the Protestant accountant's
perspective, the best that can be said of him is that he
does keep careful mental records of his self-ruination.
For a very young man Stephen has accumulated a fairly
staggering sum of debts, and rather than making plans to pay
it down, he takes its unpayability as an excuse for blowing
what now burns a hole in his pocket on a daylong binge of
treating casual acquaintances to drinks. In Proteus,
immediately after recalling his appointment to meet Mulligan
at "The Ship, half twelve"—where Mulligan plans to spend some
of his "Four shining sovereigns" on "a glorious drunk" (Telemachus)—Stephen
thinks, "go easy with that money like a good young
imbecile." He does dodge the appointment with
Mulligan, but only to spend his money treating the men in the
newspaper office to drinks.
[2018] In Oxen of the Sun he has "two pound
nineteen shilling" left, meaning that he has already
spent nearly a sixth of his month's wages on alcohol, and he
lies to his companions in the hospital common room, telling
them that he has the money "for a song which he writ."
This fabrication seems designed to boost his ego as an
artist—he is not publishing anything, much less being paid
handsomely for it—but it also contributes to the mad spiral of
borrowing and spending. A monthly salary for instructing boys
in a private school is something that should be saved and
spent judiciously. A windfall for happily placing a poem in a
journal or book is something to be celebrated over drinks with
friends.
By the time that Bloom takes him under his wing in Circe,
offering to safeguard the coins spilling out of his pockets,
Stephen has "one pound six and eleven. One pound seven,
say." Of the 72 shillings he was paid, only 27
remain—not much more than a third. He happily hands over all
his remaining money to Bloom, not because he has reason to
trust him and appreciates the offer of a banker, but because
he simply doesn't care.
