J. Donleavy - The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

‘O my god. Bother and damn. O my god. I think I may really be hurt. But if you laugh again I shall never forgive you.’

Her accent extremely high pitched and nasal. I was naturally thinking it was quite typical of her that she should shout rather exaggeratedly English epithets.

‘O pish and pother.’

Which she did really loudly as she fell again trying to get up. Her face quite red. One did for the first time feel a flash of sympathy. For she was really doing her damndest to get back on her feet.

‘You fucking little bastard you. I absolutely think your monstrous sense of humour absolutely Irish.’

‘I didn’t do a thing.’

‘Do a thing. Why you’re laughing.’

‘Only moderately as anyone might with a reasonable sense of humour.’

‘And at a poor woman. Well help me up, blast you. I think I am badly injured. I do believe the neck of one of those horrid stout bottles may have penetrated my anus. And it hasn’t done my constipation the least bit of good. O god bombs in Bloomsbury were nothing compared to this awful place.’

Darcy Dancer again taking Lois by the armpits. Like lugging a calf to put her upright once more. Her hand feeling down around her bottom, as she shakes herself.

‘Hasn’t anyone ever taught you dear boy that it is the height of rudeness to find another’s misfortune amusing. And it is totally improper not to show your elders at least that much respect. Well answer me. Hasn’t anyone ever taught you that.’

‘Please don’t shout at me.’

‘Well damn you, I shall shout. I am most angry. You seem not to exhibit any regard for the feelings of others. And are you going to pose for me or not.’

‘Now.’

‘Of course, now.’

‘You mean without my clothes.’

‘Of course.’

‘I hardly know you madam well enough. To pose that way. Besides you haven’t given me my cocoa yet.’

‘You have your damn nerve, haven’t you.’

‘On the contrary I am merely being candid as one has always been brought up to be.’

‘And who brought you up, your nannie.’

‘As a matter of fact, she did.’

Darcy Dancer and Lois in a blazing confrontation of eyeballs. Standing across the loose floorboards flecked with blue, pink, orange, green and grey. And now the sound of rain tapping the skylight. Mr Arland sometimes spoke of what he said would be my indoctrination into the outside world. Beyond the halls, walls and pastures of Andromeda Park. Now I am at large. And after a quick look at the gathering of the Count’s party it was alarming to discover how bogus were man’s interests and concerns. With everyone, if not prattling on about themselves, then loud voiced expressing their quite pretentious one sided opinions. Clearly most adults with the exception perhaps of Mr Arland and Uncle Willie, were assumed of the most hollow attributes. And it is obvious one must deal with them accordingly.

‘Well, what are you waiting for, take off your things. And I shall prepare myself.’

Darcy Dancer standing in his dark serge double breasted suit. Made by Mr Kaighan as he came with his sample cloths, tapes and chalks to measure me each October. As I must I think, take a pace backwards. Put one’s elbow to rest on this white long bookcase crammed with volumes and piled on top with ceramics, bottles of linseed oil and turpentine. Round stove with its crooked chimney pipe going upwards high into the wall where it left a wide smoke stain to the ceiling. Rain now drumming on the glass, coming down in one god awful downpour. Drips dropping into the room. Lois, a hand on her hip puts one leg forward and pushes out her chest. Right in front of my hopefully angelic face. A raindrop landing on my nose.

Faint bells toll lonesome out over the city. And madam whatever her surname is, is taking her pink outer garment by the hem and pulling it up over her head and holding it by the sleeves as it hangs down in front of her. And gives me a long hard stare. I am extremely good at staring back. Even as a baby I could make my nannie Ruby drop her eyes if they too long confronted mine.

‘Take off your jacket.’

‘It’s raining on me.’

‘Just step to one side.’

‘It is a bit chilly.’

‘O don’t complain. And look at you. French cuffs and gold cuff links. At your age.’

‘I am an imperialist member of the squirearchy and imperialists, madam, dress this way.’

‘O we are grand aren’t we.’

‘Yes I am.’

‘And a cheeky little bugger that’s what you are. Daring to engage me in a staring match. I can outstare any man. Even while I must grope round to do so.’

‘You shan’t, I regret to say, outstare me madam. And do be careful of bottles.’

Lois slowly swaying her hips. As I do believe she is attempting something in the nature of a tropical dance. Her eyes I thought averted momentarily as she opens the buttons at the neck of her woolly underwear. Pulling it down around her shoulders and hanging it from her waist. With yet another pale blue sleeveless sweater underneath. Which she pulls up over her head. Leaving her upper part quite naked. Tax her with the matter of perhaps corrupting the morals of a minor. About which I am rather widely read from legal tomes I have referred to while endeavouring to satisfy my passing interest in filthy curiosities. A trace of a smile on her lips. As she thinks this rude ruse will make me avert my eyes. Not so madam. I shall stare you into your grave before I allow my eyes to examine your breasts. Of course one catches sight of them on the upper retina. Mr Arland says images get inverted going through one’s lens. Perhaps I should impart to her advice. According to Mr Arland’s Domestic Homoeopathy. When there is torpor of the bowels and there is the sensation of being paralysed there, take three globules of opium. Obstinate cases require tepid water enema. And last night about this time I was in the arms of Miss von B who is not constipated. And shits she says like a meteor scooting among the stars. Although I supplied this latter description, it was in fact what she was trying to say.

‘You are, aren’t you, quite stubborn, dear boy.’

‘Indeed yes, madam.’

To take a train ride to Dublin. And although a little frightening it is thoroughly exciting to find yet another lady so soon to present herself quite and absolutely from the waist up divested of covering. These are smaller but quite sharply pointed breasts. Not quite so rounded and big as those of Miss von B. But longer nipples. Foxy says those big breasts you see on a lady were not of the best. That it’s the small tidy bags that make a good milker over the years. Keep distracting one’s mind during this staring. Then suddenly concentrate and with my smouldering gaze strike terror in her. The room is warming. The rain and drip has stopped. Lois is clearly faltering. Any moment now this rank imperialist will panic her to being outstared. Mr Arland will wonder where I am. But for the matter of that I might ask where is he. Since I do believe I may in fact take some time to show this rather over confident pretentious lady a thing or two.

‘Do you not like my tits dear boy. You may come and feel them if you wish.’

‘I’m quite all right thank you. I am going to outstare you first madam.’

‘It’s all quite natural dear boy. Your mother had breasts. And I have breasts. And you mustn’t look as if you think I’m deranged. And you may call me Lois.’

‘Stop talking and looking for excuses to get out of our staring match.’

‘Of course dear boy, I can’t waste time like this. I’ll let you win the staring match just this once. It is essential for the task at hand that you be able to see all of me. Perhaps not quite what your tutor had in mind for you on your tour, I don’t suspect. But I’m ready now to paint you. Please. I’m putting more turf in the stove. It should be quite tolerable. Do take off your things.’