J. Donleavy - Leila - Further in the Life and Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

‘But Rashers of course. But I don’t quite know what on earth you’re talking about.’

‘Darcy. It was I. Me. Who is responsible for the theft of your silver.’

‘Good heavens.’

‘Find it in your heart to forgive me. Please. You see these tears. Coming out of my eyes. Don’t you. It is simply that I cannot bear to perpetrate the deceit any longer. I beg you. Do have it in your heart to forgive me. I’m so close now to ushering my dear one up the aisle. Do remain silent if you wish. I do understand that you may feel our friendship has been fatally breeched. Darcy there does, in all of us, exist some little semblance of worthiness. Even too, in me. Though I may have at times stooped unbelievably low. And done things which utterly rack me with shame. This silk hanky upon which my tears now fall. I give to you. Take it. Darcy, my dear Darcy. Take it with you. Through your life. Keep warm from the cold of the world. Keep aloof from its brash noise and fashion. Keep safe from its betrayal.’

And

Never forsake

Your sweet

Compassion

Up past the little park and terrace of bright doored houses around Fitzwilliam Square, the horse cab stopping in this shadowy street. Soft misty rain falling. A black cat stepping down from the kerb stone. Shaking its paws as it steps in a puddle of water. Rashers alighting, popping on his top hat and sweeping his cloak around him and holding up his hand to Darcy Dancer.

‘We are here, dear boy. And you’d never know it, would you, from this rather presumptuously refined and respectable street. Do follow me. And don’t be appalled.’

The driver, his whip left stuck like a fishing rod over the quarters of his nag, climbing down with his blanket to wrap himself in. A greasy parcel of potato chips tucked under his arm as he steps up into the back of his cab to wait.

‘That’s a good chap my jarvey. We shall be presently back.’

‘Right you are, no hurry your Lordship. Sure catching ten winks or forty winks is all the same to me.’

‘Dear me, Darcy, what do we see over there. A damsel. Perhaps in distress.’

Rashers walking away on the pavement towards an alley, a lone figure of a girl against a wall. Her head hanging down watching a puddle gather between her broken high heeled shoes as she stands peeing down her legs. Rashers putting a pound note in front of her face which she grabs clutching in her fingers.

‘Is it a short time you want.’

‘No my dear girl. I simply want you as desirable company. And who knows I may have a promising future for you. Come there’ll be another pound or two later.’

Rashers taking the girl by the elbow. Leading her with him to a gate he opens in the stone railings. Making his steep way down the steps in front of us,

‘Where are you taking me atall.’

‘Dear girl, your mother must have been a sensible lady to have christened you Sheena. Sheena you don’t know your luck, do you. You happen to be momentarily in the refined company of two gentlemen who wish you much profit and no harm. You see, if later we have a moment to talk to you, we would like to put the question for which I was banished when putting it to the Philosophical Society of Trinity College Dublin, that this house moves to find the greater truth in the statements, deep in every woman’s heart is a whore, or deep in every whore’s heart is a woman.’

‘Don’t youse be wasting me time. And how do you know me name. Why is youse dressed like that. Youse is students.’

‘Ah we are Sheena, of a sort, students of fucking, that’s how we know. And down here is the night school of comparative anatomy we attend. For spiritual autopsies on the mind.’

‘Would there be any rashers, eggs and chips.’

‘Quite possibly my dear, quite possibly. A spud or two at least.’

Rashers pressing a button and knocking on the big black door. Piles of empty stout bottles. Rancid smell of cats. Bars on a large window. Light inside and voices shouting and singing. A rat scurrying into a coal cellar under the pavement. The door opening. Behind a whisky bottle, Binky’s face at the end of a long cigarette holder, peeking out the door.

‘Ah it’s you my dear. Welcome back. Even though you still owe me last month’s rent. Come in and bring your nice friends. Whose bothes I’m sure someone will be interested in. And who is this male lovely with you I’m sure I’ve seen somewhere before. And I do love the way you are attired. So many of my tenants go walking out of here in the morning in their pyjamas to return by evening in their opera cloaks. But instead of arias of course, you’ll hear nothing but a lot of choking croaking. Of pricks my dear, down the throats. Ah. That’s very nice. Thank you for the six pounds. And my girl do pardon my nudity.’

Binky’s thin shanks and arse disappearing with a mincing skip. Through another door and out into the light of this large stone paved room. Figures in little groups around the walls. A kettle steaming on a great cooking range. A copper tank in the corner. A table covered in grey parcels full of bottles. Drawn corks and broken crockery strewn everywhere. A man huddled over an egg stained plate stuffing bacon rinds in his mouth.

‘My dears, do make yourselves at home among the other dears. Too many of whom tonight I’m afraid resemble condoms full of custard. Then of course there are so many among us with arse holes like deck quoits that the two can easily fit together.’

A man rearing up out of a corner. Collar up on his coat. Hat pulled down on his head. And waving his arms.

‘Ah you’re making a great attempt at originality you poofta whore, you. But them’s all platitudes and clichés.’

Rashers leading Darcy Dancer aside. A burlap bag of potatoes and one of cabbages. A pile of wet turf stinking of cat shit.

‘Dear boy we stand next to what did keep me alive. And slightly unfrozen for miserable weeks. A sack full of Wicklow potatoes. And these mouldering cabbage leaves. And dear boy, you won’t. In this dungeon of nae hope. Promise me you won’t. Lose your faith in human nature. I do know in the present circumstances that that does sound rather sham coming from me.’

‘And I suppose too Rashers, one should keep the safe locked in which one keeps one’s silver, to prevent the thefts perpetrated by one’s friends.’

‘I deserve that, dear Darcy. I do. But borrowing is such a better word. Can’t you see looking about you in this place how one was driven to it. All the long months during which one hardly had said to one a single endearing thing. And even now, having managed a new start, when nice things are said to one, one simply does not believe them to be true. Just look at these wretches. From whence I have torn myself. Of course I was led into temptation by that pissing poet chap. Spouting his awful impertinent verse. I mean there he was, an utterly uninvited guest at Andromeda Park. Helping himself greedily to your hospitality. Stuffing his face at your expense. I did give him a piece of my mind. I said to him, I said, how dare you arrive here, creeping sneakily about and eating from my esteemed friend’s table when you have not earned the remotest right to be referred to as a friend. Fuck off out of my sight, I said. Before your arse gets kicked into the shape of your face and makes you less ugly than you are. I really did say that Darcy, you know. Of course the wretched chap paused a microsecond in chomping down his fistful of greasy sausages and glass of brandy, and suddenly turned on me to say the only thing he has ever said that has impressed me. He said, ah jesus now, wouldn’t you at least be letting me be treated as well as the horses that’s out there in the stables of this place. It did make me think Darcy. That all over Ireland, even in the worst stables, horses live better than most of the humans. It was in fact his heartfelt words which incited me to procure him as intermediary in the temporary taking of a loan of your silver. And I absolutely shall return all. Even the leather suitcases I took the liberty of borrowing in which the poet lugged away the less valuable Sheffield plate, spoons and knives. Of course I took the most precious silver back with me on the train.’