Authors: J. P. Donleavy
"And you must be intelligent to tell me."
"Exactly. I like it here. Little comforts, little joys."
"You don't want much."
"I don't. And you?"
"Married, I guess. Most women want to."
"Then what?"
"Children. I'm not looking for a picket fence around the house and a loving husband struggling away in the local bank. I want a certain contentment. What are you laughing at?"
"Just thinking of myself."
Turning on her shoulder, facing him.
"Tell me, did you know I was going to sleep with you?"
"Never thought of it"
"Did you want to?"
"Instantly, the first time I saw you"
"I knew we were. How do you feel now that we have?"
"I don't know. I feel I know you."
"Hold my hand."
"You'll be able to breast-feed your children. Let me see under your arm."
"I refuse to shave them for anyone."
"Smell of Russia."
"How dare you."
"Rich. And your navel."
"England?"
"No but interesting. If I have to work for a living Fm going to tell people's fortunes by their navels."
"A woman doesn't want you to see more than her own. Funny that before tonight I was prepared to accept coming back to this dreary room. Turn on the radio and listen to some silly people. Cooking myself dreary meals. It makes all the difference to have someone to cook for. How curious and sudden it all is. One expects it to happen. It happens. Now I know what you look like without clothes. I won't be able to look at you from the laundry. I'll be mentally undressing you. It's ridiculous when you consider a man's genitals and the way he dresses. They ought to wear kilts or cod pieces."
"I'd have mine tailored in Savile Row."
"Priests would have to wear black ones. Let me bite you. I want to bite you. O you've got something in your navel Fluff."
"Ekke."
"My navel's sexless and flat and doesn't collect And these are funny little things to kiss. Do you like it ? "
"More. I tell you, more's the more."
"And in your navel too."
"For God's sake, yes."
"And there? It's got a funny smell. It's tiny."
It's such a long pleasant night I hope I can remember this when I am suffering. Her gentle fingers. Sweet substance of girl, alone and damp and loving me and moving over me, over me and over, covered safe with her heart and each other's thighs, my head gone away, tickling teasing, curling hairs and hood of smells and flesh and salt taste like swimming. I live in such a house of cracked concrete. I ride to town on a crazy trolley to Trinity with the rest of them and now bury my head in the round white pincers of a stranger's thighs. Her hands are going down my legs. Tear the cartilage islands from my knees and I'll wobble forever after in the streets. Her dark head bouncing on the yellow candle air. This threnody in my scarlet skull. The laundry girls are standing on pots of steaming clothes, pounding them with thick Celtic ankles and doing a strip tease. I see them all out there and we laugh, he ho ha, the pulse of it and the country girls, naked for the first time in their lives, falling into the tubs and suds, slipping, flapping, slapping their obese bodies. It's holiday. The bestial bedlam. And he, me, raised his holy hand and told them to shut up for a minute so as to arrange them in ranks and give each a green garter of shamrocks to wear on the left thigh so as not to be criticized by the Bishops for nudity. Out now, the kip of ye. Into the streets, Dublin's fair city where the nude are so pretty. You look like the oblate and your rumps too. Strike up the band. He led them through the streets. At the Butt Bridge they stopped and the nice gentleman led them through the line, "I Left my Heart In An English Garden." The word spread quickly through the city that there was a touch of the nakedness on the roads. Pubs emptied. And the million farmers' sons and others too, on bicycles to see these fine shapes of girls who were of stout build
Chris's willowy fingers dug into his thighs and hers closed over his ears and he stopped hearing the soup sound of her mouth and felt the brief pain of her teeth nipping the drawn foreskin and the throb of his groin pumping the teeming fluid into her throat, stopping her gentle voice and dripping from her chords that sung the music of her lonely heart. Her hair lay athwart in clean strands on his body and for the next silent minute he was the sanest man on earth, bled of his seed, rid of his mind.
With two tomes under the arm walking out the back gate of Trinity College. Bright warm evening to catch the train. These business people are bent for their summer gardens and maybe a swim by Booterstown. On these evenings Dublin is such an empty city. But not around the parks or pubs. It would be a good idea to pop onto the Peace Street and buy a bit of meat I'm looking forward to a nice dinner and bottle of stout and then I'll go out and walk along the strand and see some fine builds. For such a puritan country as this, there is a great deal to be seen in the way of flesh if one is aware and watching when some of them are changing on the beach.
"Good evening, sir."
"Good evening"
"And how can I help you, sir ?
"
"To be quite honest with you, I think I would like a nice piece of calf's liver"
"Now, sir, I think I can see you with a lovely bit, fresh and steaming. Now I'll only be a minute."
"Bang on. Wizard..'
"Now here we are, sir. It's a fine bit On a bit of a holiday, sir ? Nice to have a bit of fresh meat"
"Yes, a holiday."
"Ah England's a great country, now isn't it sir?"
"Fine little country you have here."
"Ah it's got its points. Good and bad. And hasn't everything now. And here we are, sir, enjoy your holiday. It's a nice evening, now."
"A great evening."
"I see you're a man of learning and good-sized books they are too."
"They're that. Bye bye, now."
"Grand evening. Good luck, sir."
Wow, what conversation. Doctor of Platitudes. Holiday, my painful arse. But a nice bit of liver.
Into the gloom of Westland Row Station. He bought the papers, rolled them and beat his thigh up the stairs. Sitting on the iron bench, could see the people pouring in the gate. Where are the slim ankles on you women. None of you. All drays. Well what's in the paper. Dreariness. The Adventures of Felix the Cat. Put it away. I must to the lavatory. So big in here. Dribbling water. Good God, the train.
Rumbling, pounding, black dirty toy. Whistling by with the whole gang of these evening faces peeking and pouting out the windows. Must find a first class compartment. Jesus Jammed, the whole damn train. O me, try the third. Pulling himself up. Pushing his meat onto the rack, squeezing around, sitting down.
Across from him the people who lived in the semi-detached houses of Glenageary and Sandycove, all buried in the paper reading madly. Why don't some of you look out the window at the nice sights. See the canal and gardens and flowers. It's free, you know. No use getting meself upset by the crut. I say there, you, you little pinched bastard, what are you staring at. That little man staring at me. Go away, please.
Chug, chug, chug.
Choo, choo, choo.
Woo, woo, woo.
We're away. Mustn't mind these damn people. Getting me upset. Mustn't get upset. Still staring at me. If he keeps it up I swear by Christ I'U lash his head right through that window. Expect rudeness like this in the third class.
The girl sitting across from him gave a startled gasp. What is this. Must be I've gotten in a train going to Grangegorman. What's the matter with her. That pinched bastard must be up to something, feeling her thigh. Lecher. Perhaps it's my place to take measures against this sneak. O but mind my own business. Things bad enough as they are already. Well look at them all. Whole seat is writhing, wriggling. What are they looking at This is the end. I look forward to a nice evening of my liver and a walk and what's that girl pressing the book up to her face for. Is she blind. Get a pair of glasses you silly bitch. Maybe that bastard is embarrassing her, she's blushing. The damn sexual privation in this city. That's it Root of it all. Distraction. I need distraction. Read the In Memoriams.
Donoghue—(Second Anniversary)—In sad and loving memory of our dear father, Alex (Rexy) Donoghue, taken away July 25, 1946, late of Fitzwilliam Square (Butcher's porter in the Dublin abattoir) on whose soul, sweet Jesus, have mercy.
Masses offered. RJ.P.
Gone forever, the smiling face.
The kindly, cheerful heart
Loved so dearly through the years
Whose memory shall never depart.
Coming upon his ears like goblets of hot lead
"I say, I say there. There are women present"
Absolute silence in the compartment as the little train clicked past the Grand Canal and the slovenly back gardens of Ringsend. Sebastian glued to the print, paper pressed up to his eyes. Again, like an obscenity uttered in church.
"Sir. I say. There are ladies present in the carriage"
Who would be the first to jump on him. Must let someone else make the first move, I'll grab his legs when trouble starts. O this so worries me. I hate this kind of thing. Why in the name of the suffering Jesus did I have to get into this damn car. Will I ever be delivered. No doubt about it, this man was a sexual maniac. Start using obscene language any second. There's just so much I can take. It's like that old woman saying her rosary and after every decade screaming out a mouthful of utter, horrible foulness. And I can't bear foulness. Look at them, all behaving as if nothing had happened. Better keep my eyes up, he may try to level me with a surprise blow. That man in the corner with the red nose. He's laughing, holding his stomach. For hell, deliver me. Never again ride third class.
"I say there. Must I repeat There are ladies present"
Sebastian levelled his face at him, lips shearing the words from his mouth.
"I beg your pardon."
"Well, I say, haven't you forgotten something ?"
"I beg your pardon"
"I repeat, there are ladies present. You ought to inspect yourself"
"Are you addressing me?"
"Yes"
This conversation is too much. Should have ignored the fool. This is most embarrassing. I ought to take a clout at that bastard in the corner who seems to be enjoying it so much. He'll enjoy it if I break his jaw for him. Why don't they lock these people up in Ireland. The whole city full of them. If I'm attacked, by God, I'll sue the corporation for selling this madman a ticket. Those two girls are very upset. This damn train an express all the way to the Rock. My God. Sit and bear it. Control. Absolute and complete control at all costs.
"Sir, this is abdominable hehavior. I must caution you. Frightfully serious matter, this. Shocking on a public conveyance. Part of you, sir, is showing."
"I beg your pardon, but would you please mind your own business or I'll break your jaw."
"It is my business to discourage this sort of thing when there are ladies present Shameful. There are other people in the car you know."
No hope. Don't let him suck me into conversation like that. Must employ me brain. We're coming into the Booterstown. Get out in a minute. Showing? Yes. My fingers are out Holy Catholic Ireland, have to wear gloves. Don't want to be indecent with uncovered fingers. And my face too. This is the last time positively that I appear without wearing a mask. There's a breaking point But I'll not break not for any of them and certainly not for this insane lout
Avoiding the red, pinched, insistent, maniacal face. Look out the window. There's the park and where I first saw my dear Chris to speak to me. O deliverance. That laughing monster in the corner, I'll drag him out of the car and belt him from one end of the station to the other. What's he doing. Pointing into his lap. Me? Lap? Good Christ It's out Every inch of it
Leaping for the door. Get out Fast. Behind him, a voice.
"Haven't you forgotten something else?'.
Wheeling, wrenching the blood-stained parcel from the rack.
Behind him.
"You can't remember your meat at all today"
Turning the glass around and around, swill, swallow, more. At his elbow the parcel of trusty liver, brown and blood. Over the tops of the houses across the street, the sun going down. It's late and Marion will be fit to be tied. I've tried to reason over this. It's not a matter of courage or grief or what, but I find it impossible to come to grips with that dreadful embarrassing situation. If only I'd buttoned my fly. If only that.
"My very good man, would you fill me up again."
"And certainly, Mr. Dangerfield."
Can I not be spared this misery. I thought I was over things like that. Well thank God 1 didn't walk through the Rock with it out. I need people to talk to. I have nobody to talk to. Go back is the only thing for it. Buy a head on the way.
He pushed through the broken, green door and wearily flung himself into the tattered chair. Marion in the kitchen, staring dumbly at her. Up on the wall behind her is the gas meter. I would like to point out that the meter is green, the penny slot is made of brass, and this meter measures my gas for me to cook my pitiful grub. I just can't stand any more.
Marion quavered at the door.
"I can't go on, Sebastian."
Sebastian looking up with interest.
"I really mean it. It's too much. You've been drinking."
"My dear Marion. I really mean it. It's too much. You've been drinking"
"I'm going to leave you."
"You're going to leave me."
"I mean that."
"O you mean it"
"Yes."
"Marion. I'm upset Now do you know what upset means? It means that I'm capable of doing anything. I'll kill you here and now unless I'm given some peace. I want peace. Now, Marion, you know what I want. Peace, God damn it"
"Don't shout at me. I'm not afraid of you."
"You're afraid of me, Marion. It's better that way. You'll keep away from my hands."
"You don't frighten me in the least. O you're so wretched."
"My dear Marion, you're upset O you're really upset Blinking your eyes. Now you lie down and I'll get you a tittle prussic acid to soothe your nerves."
"You'll regret every bit of this. How dare you say a thing like that? Staying out all night drinking, guttering. You've come to this house the last time drunk. Just how far can you go ? How low ? Tell me, how low ? "
"There was a man from Calcutta, who lived a life in the gutter."
"My child's name is ruined. How much you care for hen You were studying weren't you? You even had the gall to take the money I had saved behind the clock and you sit there with that horrid grin on your face telling me you're going to kill me. Well, try it. That's all I can say, try it. And there is one more thing I would like you to know. I've written to your father and I've told him everything. Every blessed thing you've done."
In the greasy chair, Sebastian, silent, still, his hands tightening on the arms. Looking at her and looking at her, a face blank with fear.
Sebastian speaking quietly, slowly.
"You've made a big mistake, Marion. A very big mistake."
"Don't"
"A big mistake, Marion. You're forcing decisions."
"Don't for God's sake go on like this. I can't bear it"
"You had absolutely no right Do you understand me? No right, I say."
"Stop it"
"What did you tell him?"
Marion, hands to face, weeping.
"I repeat, what did you tell him? Answer me."
"You're horrid. Horrid and hideous."
"What did you tell him, God damn it?"
"Everything."
"What?"
"I said everything."
"What, God damn it, did you tell him?"
"The truth. That we've been starving. That the baby has rickets. And because you're drinking every penny we get. And this house too and that you slapped and punched me when I was pregnant, threw me out of bed and pushed me down the stairs. That we're in debt, owe hundreds of pounds, the whole loathsome truth."
"You shouldn't have done that, Marion. Do you hear me?"
Marion, her voice pumping out in pauses.
"How can you say that. What do you want me to do? Go on like this forever? Until there is no hope. live on your dreams of becoming a great barrister when you never work and cheat on your exams. And you never intend to work. I know you don't, and spend your times in the slums. Out all night. I hate this house. I hate it all, Ireland, everything in it Leave me to cope with this wretched hole."
"Shut your damn mouth."
"I won't"
"Shut it."
"I won't."
He slowly reached out and took the shade off the lamp. He placed it on his little table.
"Are you going to shut up?"
"No."
He took the lamp by the neck and smashed it to pieces on the wall.
"Now shut up."
Marion quiet, wild eyed and tearful, watching the man in the rickety chair who held the end of the smashed lamp in his loose pink fingers. Sinister man. Staring at her and she couldn't get her feet to bring her out of the room, listening to his voice tearing at her.
"You're rotten. Bloody British blood. Damn stupidity. Hear me? Cry. Cry. You've done the one thing for which I would kill any man. You're a scheming slut. Did you hear what I said? I said you were a scheming slut"
"Don't say that to me, please."
That letter cost you a great deal of money. Do you hear me ? Money. If you ever write to my father again I'll strangle you."
"O for God's sake stop it"
"I'm driven mad. Jesus to come home to this. This on top of every damn thing. I want to tear this house down. Everything in it I'll smash every God damn thing in it You won't have a house then. You'll be in the gutter. You belong in the gutter. Your God damn vulgar father and your smutty mother and that sniveling sneak of a titled uncle. Do you hear what they are? Human garbage and rubbish, not fit to be alive."
"Please, I beg of you to stop it"
"Get out"
"Please, Sebastian."
"Get out God damn it Do as I say. Get out or I'll strangle you here and now."
"What's made you like this?"
"You've made me like this. That's what made me the way I am now. You."
"I haven't You can't blame me. I'm sorry I wrote your father. I'm sorry for it"
"Get out"
"Can't you see I'm sorry. Can't you see anything?"
"I can't see a goddamn thing. I'm mad and I'm blind. I'm mad."
"Please stop it I beg of you, Sebastian to stop it."
Marion walked half across the room towards the man wagging his body in the chair, showing his teeth, shaking his fists around his head.
"Stay away. Get away from me. Jesus, what ever made me come to this God damn country? I'm finished. I'm finished. Finished. Not a hope. A God damn snake can't live here. Nothing can live here. Every Christ botched thing on top of me. Every side. Every minute. What are you trying to do to me? Finish me forever? Do I actually have to suffer this now? Do I? Will you shut up about work, study, work. I'm not going to work. Never. That letter cost you thousands. Damn you."
"Can't you see, even for a second, that I'm sorry for it? I didn't mean to do it Can't you see I've been driven to it?"
"Twenty thousand pounds. Jesus."
"You've left me here day after day in this sordidness. No gas, no hot water and the toilet and the roofs leaking. I'm the one to be angry and get upset But have I?"
"Mother of Christ, all right. I don't want to hear it Just stop that right now. I don't want to hear it You've disinherited me."
"It won't be for years and years."
"Shut up, I know when it will be."
"It will. You'll wait for years."
"So what You're alive. You're not dead. You're not sick. Can't you wait a year?"
"I'm not well either. We may be dead by then. And Felicity. She's yours too. Think of her."
"I just don't want any more of this. Take it all away. Take it away. I'm so damn fed up that I swear to Christ I'll just demolish this whole house. Poke the windows out. I'll beat it to the ground. Out of my way. Where's my damn head. Where is it?"
"It's on the floor there."
"I want no mere. Just nothing. Nothing. O Jesus. Honestly, I need distraction, I can't do with this any longer. Just forget it and leave me in peace for tonight because if I don't get peace—that's all."
"The pot's under the table."
"Thanks."
"There are two onions and a carrot if you want to put them in"
"Thanks."
"I put five pence in the gas."
"O.K"
"I'll help if you like."
"It's O.K Is there any of my garlic left?"
"I saw a clove in the table drawer."
Marion standing holding her hands. Intense, despaired. She moves around and goes to the chair, puts her hands on the arms and looks out the window with the sky darkening with clouds and rain drops hitting the panes. Sound of him juggling pots in the kitchen. Knife striking the table top and the head drowning in the water. I see so many old vegetables, wrinkled and dry at the bottom of so many drawers. A little peace. Just a little. I would like very much to have a few days in the country, watching the cows sucking up the grass.
"I'm going out a minute, Marion. Anything you want? Don't cry. For heaven's sake, don't cry. What are you crying for? Please. I'll be back in a minute, now don't cry. You don't want anything?"
"No."
God rest ye merry gentlemen. It's just a matter of time. Raining again. And cold now. One more pint. I'd like to have something to soothe my nerves. I ought to be a chemist —nervebalm, new product of Dangerfield, largest dispensing chemists in the world. Big signs all over Ireland. Nervebalm. Undignified. Keep the dignity and to hell with the money.
He moved swiftly down the street. And stands at the bar drinking down a foaming pint of porter. Orders another and goes with it to sit by the fire. Crossing his legs, studying the hole in a heel Sole of the feet wanning deliriously and the brown gargle as they say was putting the mind afloat Poor Marion. Not such a bad person. But what fantastic notion put that into her head, Was there any love left I think that the best thing I can do under the circumstances is to just lie low until it blows over. O the weapons by which we the tender hearted, live. The father will be upon me.
But now I'll get back to that sheep's head. Eyes. I love the eyes. Ill give a clear soup to Marion. She ought to darn my socks and dean my shirts. Things could be different Must control myself hereafter. Might break a blood vessel in my brain and die wiggling. Everybody wants it both ways. Money and love. Get it one way, and I'm just completely screwed. Two ounces of butter. Pushing in the door of a tiny shop.
"Good evening, sir"
"Good evening."
"Fine evening. Looks as if it will hold."
"Yes."
"Blow over. Best you can expect"
"Best you can expect."
"Could you give me two ounces of butter?"
"Two ounces did you say, sir?"
"Yes."
"Well, I don't know. We sell butter usually by the weight —half pound or a pound."
"Do you sell quarter pounds?"
"Well, I think so."
"Could you give me half a quarter pound?"
"Yes."
"Half a quarter pound then."
Sebastian watching him. O you sly gombeen man. The backs of these stores, most sordid places in the world. In there with his big-busted wife, two barrels banging. You stupid, intolerable oaf.
Man handing him the little package. carefully tied, with a loop for his finger.
Out into the air. A contrast Bit of turf smell. Things not so bad. Wait and see what happens. Have to take what comes. Good with the bad. Lot in these old sayings. How one can tell lies in times of stress. My God, it's absolutely awful. Be made for the world. But the world was made for me. Here long before I arrived and they spent years getting it ready. Something got mixed up about my assets.
He shoved the green door in with his toe and kicked it dosed with his heel. Marion sitting in the chair. I won't ask her to get out of it this evening. Suffer a little discomfort for the sake of peace. Have her terrified and keep her that way. Makes her very quiet. OI smell it. O me. Am I a cook. Wee. Make O'Keefe swoon with envy. Must write him. Have a flair for cooking. I have, I have. Now a nice bowl of clear for Marion. Put a little of the butter to be floating majestically around in it, bit of richness. Be calm, use Nervebalm.
"Marion."
She looks up, hesitant. Reaches out her two hands and clasps the white bowl. The glass has been cleaned up, pieces of my anger.
"Thank you"
"Here's bread and a bit of butter."
"Thanks."
"Taste it."
"Good. Thanks."
"Enough salt? Don't cry anymore now. It's all right. It's just that this evening I came home on the train with my penis out."
"What do you mean?"
"Forgot to button my fly."
"And did people see you?"
"Yes."
"O no."
"O yes. Most exasperating thing that ever happened in my life. It was out from Dublin to the Rock."
"You poor darling. I'm sorry for everything."
Life's much better that way. Patch things up. Renewed sense of security. If we could get out of this house. Skully has us by the balls. The lease is a noose. O'Keefe was right, never pay rent. Cramped between these damp walls. The child gets me right in the ear. Must find a bigger house. Just get the hell out of here. Explain to the father. But it's impossible to undo the damage with a new set of lies.
Filling the bowl. Spooning out the eyes, sliding them into the mouth. Wag them around. Sit down and rest This is very nice.
"Where are you going, Sebastian?''
"Just thought of something. Need a little fire for cheer."
Out in the hall a second. Back and has it in the center of the floor a raised foot goes crash, splintered and cracked. One genuine antique, Louis the cat torts.
"O Sebastian, you mustn't"
"O I think so, for the fire that's in it. My Dear Egbert, you see, we were at the cinema, having left our dear child with an aunt and a rogue or rogues. Front door's broken. His responsibility. A little matter of theft in this great Catholic country."