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

‘You are the most filthy disgusting person.’

‘Ah with me hands in prayer, close me eyes now, and I will seek the intercession of the Blessed Gainor Stephen Crist, who one day soon will be canonized as the patron saint of those driven to drink when the bedevilment of the fucking significance of life makes them think it has no meaning better than that found in another jar of stout.’

‘Can’t someone stop him blaspheming.’

‘Of course I am Madam all those things you mention. But as to what I do in my diabolism, is me own fucking business. Sure, the letter E beginning as it does your name, would give you a bad start in life. Being as it is the first letter of such words as evil not to mention ebb, eczema, edema and electrocution. But eftsoons, egad, if you give us the velocity of your viscosity of your bifurcation, madam and get out your big pair of bosoms. I’d get out my cock. And during my premature ejaculation spattering your purity you could beat me to death with your bound copies of the Catholic Herald ’

‘Why doesn’t someone kick him flying.’

‘Madam, I’m flying already. Wait while I take a read of me altimeter. Meanwhile did you hear what the toilet bowl said to the arse. Thank you for dropping that in. Give me Vat Sixty Nine now. And it’s not the Pope’s telephone number I’m after. And while I put my yarmulka on give the woman in bed more petroleum. And would someone ever divulge to me this instant the fucking melting point of tungsten.’

‘Three thousand degrees centigrade.’

‘Give the Phi Beta Kappa man who knew that a bottle of stout. And Madam that’s about the likes of the heat that it would take to melt you into a decent piece of arse.’

‘Someone please take me home out of here.’

Eeena in her big black hat, hands up to her face, rushing for the door. Two men in attendance upon her turning to look back. A bottle smashing on the wall next to one of their heads as they hasten their departure. Buster the Beastly putting his pint glass to his lips, his Adam’s apple going up and down in his throat gulping down the contents in one long swallow. Murmurs of disapproval. Growls of objection. A man, arms folded across his chest, grey weatherbeaten hat clamped down on his skull, looks round as he shouts.

‘Now the evil likes of you is nothing but a treacherous gurrier only fit to be a rat down in the likes of this vile place.’

Buster the Beastly rocking back on his heels, face contorted in a snarl and jutting his head towards the man in the battered grey hat.

‘With your phony quaint innocent verse dotted with primroses, go back and piss on the soil from which your refreshingly natural rhymes grow. You fucking bog peasant. Sure aren’t you cricking your neck kissing the arse of the visiting London intelligentsia, and still up to your bollocks in nettles and wiping your own arse with dock leaves.’

The man tearing off his grey battered hat throwing it to the stone floor and jumping up and down on it. Wagging his fists around his balding skull.

‘I won’t be insulted by the likes of worthless trash. Scum you are. Nothing but the worst slandering vicious wickedness, a poison so foul it would kill an oak tree standing a mile away from you.’

‘So long as you drop dead with it, you cunt, I’d be content.’

Rashers coming to the side of Darcy Dancer. His hand gently on his shoulder and smiling into his face. The sound of a fist socking flesh. And of a skull thumping and cracking on the floor.

‘I do apologize my dear Darcy for the unseemly unfeeling sentiments you’re hearing expressed. The world of art. Nothing but a nest of vipers of course. But soon a better class of café society will be arriving. But I see you’re just quiey here watching and listening. And even a litle bemused. Ah but I see our big bellied champion whistler is joining us who’s long been a fellow tenant of mine down here. Ah my dear Valentine allow me to introduce you to Marquis of Delgany and Kilquade. I was just explaining to his Lordship how you and I, products of good schools and families, have had to be incarcerated here in this malevolent homespun condition.’

‘And a worse place for barbarians you couldn’t find. And you whore you, don’t know your old friends now, over there in the Shelbourne stretching your legs out over an entire floor.’

‘Ah now Val, that may be temporarily true. But you see what I’ve brought for you. Sheena, over there. Price is usually a tenner. But as she’s a litde laggards tonight there is a fifty per cent reduction. For you of course there is a further discount of a quid making four pounds and only requiring two pounds and ten shillings in advance if you please.’

‘You’d sell the pubic hairs off your mother in her coffin, you whore you. I’ll pay you two and a half thumps in the gob. And have the lady for nothing.’

‘Please Valentine, I can see you’ve already shocked his Lordship here. That’s the type of uncalled for vulgar intransigence that really does try one’s patience. Don’t please fuck up my litde enterprise now, which has been such a long time organizing. Sheena needs some sprucing up, one admits, but you’ll find beneath her rags an awfully curvaceous creature. And there’s more where she came from. Her mother who presides over an assorted vegetable barrow in Henry Street is from a long line of genuine Mecklenburg Street whores, her poor dear father, a Guinness barrel having fallen upon his toe, is now an incorrigible invalid drinking to excess the very thing that crippled him in the first place.’

‘OK you awful whore you, here’s thirty bob and even that’s too much. Goodbye now, you bloody awful chancer.’

‘Ah Darcy, see what a brilliant ponce I am. I’ve sold Sheena not only to the whistling champ, but to four other insanely sexually frustrated chaps who I hope will all have the patient decency to peacefully wait in a row.’

‘That’s absolutely disgraceful.’

‘Ah I knew dear boy you’d disapprove. But you know, strange fact of life, the least expense is often involved in the making of the most profit. You do, don’t you, find this place unfitting. O dear. So do I. But take heart. There in the dark suits the far side of the room, stand gentlemen members of the Legion of Decency. Who are also on the government censorship board. Indeed I think I also spy militant members of the Legion of Mary. Dear me. I actually do. They are, bless their hearts, a most deadly serious inteioned people dedicated to stamping out Dublin vice. And although you may not believe it, these catacombs have produced more than their share of candidates for sainthood. In fact the Legion are here in such force, to investigate an apparition. Seen by four of the children. Yes. Happened one morning. I was the other side of that wall. Playing as it would unseemly happen, with my very lonely prick. While a miraculous and beautiful vision took place right in that corner where the water tank stands, and where you now see the statue of the Blessed Virgin in front of which burn those votive lights and candles. It appears that she said she had come to dispense hope to those most without hope. Indeed my dear boy, this hellish hole of Calcutta is now the Lourdes of Dublin. And take no notice of that gesticulating chap in front of the statue of Our Lady. He is, from the end of his foreskinless prick to the top of his red curly head, entirely Hebrew. From a good Jewish Qanbrassil Street family. Those are merely his traffic signals which he frequently employs directing Dublin traffic in the evening rush. Without him the whole city would be a nightmare of entangled bicycles and horsecarts not to mention motor vehicles. You don’t believe a single word I’m saying, do you Darcy. Think I’m spinning a fantastic yarn, don’t you.’