Authors: J. P. Donleavy
"Now tell them to stand back off the road."
"Hey guys there's a real Queen in here, a real Queen, leave her alone. But get the guy it's no gun he's got but just an ordinary cane, I saw it."
Smith with a swift motion catching the kid by the hair and raising him to the window. Encircling his neck with an arm and compressing it to a sudden strand of shoe string, mouth open, tongue out, eyes popping.
"The first one of you to touch this carriage and I break his neck."
Across the spidery tree tops the sound of a siren. Gang gesturing to the half strangled speechless kid. George Smith's calm hard eyes. The driver relaxing waiting for his male passenger to be dragged out and kicked to death in the short bushes. A small gurgling noise coming out of the hostage's throat. The gang wide eyed, yelling at the steamy glass window.
"Hey mister you're killing him, he's choking can't you see."
"Step back or I snap his head
off.
Back further."
"You better let him go mister, we'll get you."
"Driver move on. One of you takes a step after this cab and I throw him out dead."
Gang leader holding up a staying hand. Faces peering out of the quickly passing cars to view the parkland spectacle. While running up their windows and locking their doors. A population to which you could appeal for help. If you wanted to share your money.
Clip clop. Forging on. Smith releasing the kid's neck. Her Majesty leaning over him as he collapsed gasping in a heap. A flash of lamplight striking his face. A choir boy. For a moment. Law of averages have failed to prevent one disaster following another. Smart kid, with the right idea. Call the bluff always, because if the other guy's got the gun you won't live anyway. Her Majesty silent. Constricted in her fur. George out the window to the driver.
"Slow down. I'm dumping this kid out."
"Bring him to the police."
"Slow down. Wretch."
"Hey mister what's wrong with you bring the kid to the police."
"I said slow down."
"It's my cab mister, dump the kid at the precinct."
"See this stick, you want it wrapped around your neck."
"Look mister, don't get hot under the collar, I'm slowing down,"
"O.K. kid, I'm kicking you out. But I'll be in this park every night rill I track you and the gang down and strangle each one of you, so enjoy life till then."
"Mister ain't you got no mercy."
"Just for myself sonny."
"This is a jungle, just what I told my sister who wants to be a nun, kind of people around like you don't understand human decency."
Smith's foot pushing. Boy leaping. Landing on a bridle path. Standing up to make a rude gesture at Smith as he waved goodbye. Clip clop. Strings of light and flashing beams across the trunks of trees. Along by a lawn and the vacant back of the museum.
Smith paying off the horsecab. No safe way to travel. Cross this road to that coffee shop. Full of fluffy haired debutante girls. Buy Her Majesty a box of cheeroots. And get into this phone booth. Little clicks, tiny beeps. A bell.
"Herbert rescue me."
"Why sure, Mr. Smith. Where are you."
"By the entrance to the Art Museum in the park. I've just had a rather unfortunate canter in a buggy through The Ramble, should be renamed."
"I'll be right there. Maybe take me nine minutes. I'll use the siren."
Her Majesty so white and diminutive. Chilled, wrapping her arms round herself. Bonniface cruelly said of our relationship. She was robbing the cradle as I was robbing the grave. Look up under the great portico of the museum. Pigeons huddling in there, cooing in the shadows. One couldn't help finding the little rough neck charming. And ideal business partner.
"George, can't we wait in the coffee shop instead of the cold."
"Evangiline. Your pomp and my circumstance, why don't we live together far from mayhem, up there in the contemporary sky."
"Are you proposing."
"Yes. Bonniface best man. Baron Mumchance usher.
The Excelsior a refuge."
"I'll tell you later."
"Yes Ma'am."
Siren up the avenue. Approaching. Smith smiling. Gives one the inner sense of running everything. Boss. Big wheel. Sitting back in safety. Glad to see you Herbert. With the vehicle. Seems only a minute ago I stood in front of Miss Martin's one man firing squad. Sure enough she shot me. My Prep School diploma reframed. Everything coming together. Old friends. Reception at Renown. Will bring a new letter from ShirPs lawyer. Tie him in one more legal knot. Help Her Majesty into the car. She's gone all silent. Maybe Mr. Park has tried something funny. Off duty.
"Stop at Merry Mansions, Herbert. I've got to change."
"Siren, Mr. Smith."
"Please."
Dreadnaught singing out its wailing tune. Pedestrians turn heads. Cars stop. Guilt spreads everywhere. Had I run Bonnif ace to the airport with it blaring he would have refused forever to leave that hilarious safety.
"George."
"Your Majesty, you think I'm overdoing it."
"You're a dreamer."
"You forgive me for peeing off your terrace."
Crosstown streets. Between darkened stone houses, brown, grey, the tops lit like skulls. Dreadnaught's tiny green light glowing on the black roof above the windscreen. Stands at the moment for go. And disturbing the peace. Police always salute. Think I'm the chief. Chief thinks I'm the commissioner. Commissioner thinks I'm the mayor. Mayor thinks I'm the governor. That's how God was made. Head of heaven.
"George, will you have a butterscotch. Will Herbert."
"Thanks ma'am."
"Herbert, butterscotch."
"No thanks, Mr. Smith."
We are so pleasant sucking the sweet. Twice escaped near certain death. Miss Tomson. That's why must ask you. A little message. Can't we lie quietly in each other's arms. My pole against your arse. Whispering against the back of your ear. No. Not The Goose Goes Inn. Or. Like to get you right there. No. Just Miss Tomson, Sally. Together. What can be more than that. Until I die. For if a whisper means anything. If it means you'll hear it. Believe it. Be like my first little girl friend when they twisted her arm. Made her tiny note drop to the floor. Followed by her tears. When they made fun of her. And I loved her ever since.
Guess now
Comes
All winter sky
Purple pink and sad
Crossed
By tree twigs
Waving mad.
"G
EE
Smithy, glad you came. Take your coat."
"Nearly didn't get. Got attacked by kids in the park."
"You're kidding."
"Sally Tomson. Evangiline Voninnocent."
"Hi."
"How do you do."
"Evangiline will vouch."
"That's O.K. Smithy, I believe, little kids are always trying to beat you up."
"Alas."
"Now come meet everybody. My fiance. There he is. Gee I'm glad you came. I was just thinking the second before the door slid open, where's the missing link. And you look so smart. You rent that."
"Sally, not so loud."
"Claude here he is. The one and only. I'll miss out the first eight initials. Claude H D N. And it's Van in, gee."
"Voninnocent, Sally. Evangiline."
"Gee, see. Well I know you're George Smith. Sorry Evangiline."
"Not at all."
"How do you do."
"Hello."
"Glad you could come Mr. Smith. Sally talks about you. Quite a lot."
"Gee this is tense, isn't it. Let's break up. Claude you take Evangiline and introduce her. I'll take this cookee."
"Sally you're drinking."
"Smithy, I am not. Hey I am. Here, you too, best bubbling wine. How do you like it. The place."
"Little breathtaking."
"It's something isn't it."
"Where does the staircase go."
"Up. Two more crazy floors on top of this. And there's one room you're going to like. I always think of you when I'm in it. Don't get any ideas I'm not paying my way. I mean at least part. This is my place. I want you to like it, I really mean it. Come on. Take a drink. You don't want to meet people."
"O.K."
"Isn't this nice, this staircase. Goes round. All the way up. I drop golf balls from the top. Like a crazy roulette. See which one of the stairs it bounces back up on. O Smithy."
"Sally."
"Smithy."
"Gee let's run up the stairs. Hold my hand. Bedroom's this floor. Another little library. And a crapper there too. What I always wanted. Books and a crapper side by side. Isn't that a crazy little table. There. I polish it every day. Put the fresh dog flower there. Still got yours. Pressed it in a book, how to succeed in business or something like that, so it would sort of help you along. Now. In here. How do you like it."
"Miss Tomson."
"Isn't it something."
"An altar."
"Yesh."
"I don't know quite what to say, Miss Tomson."
"I play organ music. Burn insense. And I sit in there. Have die delicatessen bring me around smoked salmon, potato salad, olives and maybe ham. On rye bread."
Smith standing in the gloam. On the last step down into this high ceilinged room. An altar set with tabernacle. Candles flickering. Reflecting on Smith's shimmering lapels. Miss Tomson's dress floating out from her hips and narrow waist. An emerald set in silver above her milky white breasts. Her long slightly helpless arms.
"Come down, Smithy. Here. You light one. I'll light one. Put them here together."
Smith lighting his candle. And lighting Miss Tom-son's. Pressing the white wax on the brass spike. Oriental carpet. Tapestries under the high window. Strange blue black glass on the sky. Miss Tomson's sedan chair of glistening hide. Where she sits listening and chewing. Two new flames. Goldminers naked holding hands in front of theirs. Ask Sally. Can we kneel. Clothingless. But all the people, her friends, a distant swell of voices.
"We're going to be married in here. Sort of special ceremony after the church. O gee. I didn't want it to be like this. You like me, don't you."
"I do."
"Gosh, I know. I like you. Smithy it's your eyes. I don't know. I don't want to cut you out of my life. The part you were playing was swell."
"And small."
"Come on. It's important. But a guy, when you love him and you're his. Well like a rag doll. You get thrown in the corner when they're finished with you."
"I wouldn't throw you in the corner."
"Smithy, Jesus. That's what I'm thinking. O shit, that's what I'm thinking. Sorry about the language."
"That's all right."
"Just to avoid getting shunted by guys. I got a career. Wanted my freedom. I only got these looks for so long, I guess, to drive guys crazy. Aren't our flames nice there. Wish my body was big enough I could spread it around and you could have it too. Like could send it over to you when you needed it. You look sweet. Right now. Funny, you're always hanging around in my mind, in your crazy old clothes. With your quaint little problems. Glad you brought your mother with you."
"That's cruel."
"Who is she."
"A very old friend."
"She's pretty impressive, I'm only kidding about the age, she's pretty beautiful too. I'm jealous. Never seen you in evening clothes before. It's a revelation."
"Why do you sigh like that."
"I don't know Smithy. I throw guys over because they try to own me, I never threw you over. And gee, your invitation. There it is, resting here on the altar. It's great. Ha ha, I'm dying to get there."
"You're shivering. Miss Tomson."
"Yesh. Funniest thing. Keep thinking I'm carrying black lillies up the aisle."
Miss Tomson raising one eye brow. One smiling eye in her head. The other so sad. Looking slowly down Smith's elegance. Stopping at his fly and smiling. Smith laying a modest hand across.
"Miss Tomson, really."
"Gee Smithy, it's right there. Wow, I better turn on some music."
Tomson turning knobs. A control panel under a shelf of books. Faint drums and horns. She's so beautiful. Lights up the darkness of the room. Can I tell her. Save her. Say, Sally let me spill my blood. A bit. For you. So scared all those weeks you weren't there. That I was too small time. Too much of nothing and you were everything. With all the people you knew. My mangy little office. Horsehair sofa. A bath running rusty water. You lived so high up, it was a long way to reach you. Each time I phoned it rang in the distance. And I'd hear a ship's horn trumpeting in the river. Boop. Boop. I thought of the deep deep water and maybe you had gone away altogether. Then I got hard. Wished I was famous, wished I was the center of attraction with friends calling, going in and out of my life. And I said, and shouted, you were cheap and sham. Worth nothing, just a climbing bitch, sticking heels in faces. You are. Because you must. Do what you're doing. I'm married in all my chains. That in a big world, where we touched hands. Whispered. Told each other tiny sorrows. It's all there is. Can't ask for more. Because there is no more. Only a moment of feeling skin, your heart under your breasts, and screaming in your ear as you grabbed me by the simple arse. That was it.
"Sally, I don't want to lose you."
"O."
"I don't."
"Gee."
"I don't want to lose you."
"I know."
"You won't let me lose you."
"Smithy."
"I want to tell you."
"O.K."
"That if I lose you I have nothing left."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I could buy you."
"Could you."
"Yes."
"Gee."
"Can't give you a contract. But could give you laughs."
"Smithy, ha ha, yesh, you give me a chuckle, true."
"And it wouldn't be enough, would it."
"You're the most surprising guy. You don't know how close I'm to saying, yesh it's enough. Maybe I could fit you in in the afternoons."
'Would you."
"I don't want to lose you Smithy. I don't. I can't two time. I just can't. I'm funny people. I don't love this guy. But if I'm honest I'm not really taking him for his money either. Gee. Hear that. Boat in the river. Funny time to blow such a sad tune. Left all my guests. I don't care. For a minute anyway. Don't ebb. Jesus don't ebb."
"I will."
"I grew the hair under my arms. Just for you, because I knew you liked it. Not much I guess to do, to show affection. It nearly ruined my career."
"How did you know I liked that."
"I'm not telling you."
"You never told me there is a real AI Maygrain Diltor something."
"Gee, didn't I say he was a real guy."
"No."
"O.I know him."
"He sent me an invitation, Sally."
"I know. Don't ask me, it's a laugh."
Smith's head upon Tomson's soft bosom, ear against her breast, hard corner of a jewel. Her hand reaching in his hair. The beautiful danger of letting her nails near my eyes. As they touch, could claw. Lay the fingertips gently. Gently they lay.
"I want you, Smithy to stay in my life. I do. We're like two little kids standing here."
Swaying softly held together. Strains of a highland march. Buy her. Get what. But if you don't fight. If
you don't go smashing in upon her heart and grab it in both hands, hold it tightly, make it squirm under the crushing fingers. Got to do that.
"I'll buy you."
"Smith what can you offer me. You' d give me money."
"Miss Tomson we're two wretched folk."
"You see Smithy, the price is so high. I want a father on tap for my kick. To play with them on the rug with trains. If you were giving me money. I mean, gee it would be miserable for you having to part with all the cash I would need. This is terrible talk. Between us. Because suddenly I'm not kidding. Maybe it's all because you haven't got brown eyes."
"I have the lonely green variety."
"O Smithy. Gee."
"MissT."
"Mr. S."
"Can you hear that sound, Miss T."
"No."
"It's me. Tip toeing."
"Where you going, you tip toeing."
"Out of your life."
"O no. Gee I sort of yelled didn't I."
"You did."
"We better go down."
Tomson holding Smith's hand tightly. Stepping up the steps out this temple room. To put an arm around, squeeze you ever so gently. I know that when I tip toe and go. You wanted me to stay. And so, when I go, it won't be as cold. A warmth I can wear. Your fingernails leave. Last thing of all. My steel heart snaps shut. Never open again. Painful asking what are you doing tomorrow, Sally, where are you today. Tyrant tide. Comes up to cover us. And you're tall. Golden gypsy. Running way up into the sky. Laughing and dry.
The sweet heart
In the lilly
All black
Or white
Like snow