J. Donleavy - The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

‘Well dear boy it certainly applies to you and you sound so homosexual. Do you mind if I ask you a question. Have you ever been buggered.’

‘I beg your pardon.’

‘Dear boy, have you.’

‘Do you mean what that word most rudely suggests.’

‘Yes I do. Someone putting his penis up your arsehole.’

‘Why are you asking me that.’

‘My, your cheeks do redden don’t they. Get in bed with me here. I’m merely asking if not a very nice question at least a simple one.’

‘My cheeks do not redden. And I have not been buggered. And this is a rather mournful conversation madam. And I think it may be getting entirely disagreeable as well.’

‘Buggery is widespread you know. And most normal young men would long since have jumped in here in bed with me. Or are you tired from your activity on the dais.’

‘No I am not. But my tutor will be worried as to my whereabouts.’

‘Who the devil are you anyway. Some silly young Lord. Are you.’

‘I’m sorry to disappoint, but I have no entitlement of any sort. However I do descend from a long line of gentry.’

Lois patting her hand on a red pink patch of quilt, the long sinewy muscle flexing in her arm. As she beckons with her curling finger. Darcy Dancer kicking off his shoes. Breaking an already shortened shoelace. Feet chilled stepping on the rough floorboards. Wooden arches rise from the walls to support the cold darkness above and beyond the glass. Cross over to where she lifts back the bedding. If I had a timepiece I might even know if I were to be in the arms of two different ladies in the same day. Something to remember my whole life. One responds to those polite. Who kindly invite. Big pipes coming out of the boiler in the corner. A paint stain on her pillow case. And move up against this smooth flesh, which stood in front of me so white. And there was this morning a frost out on the grazing black cattle backs. Push in under these weighty damp wool coverings. A big eared big footed bog trotter out of the soggy bowels of Ireland.

‘Now dear boy, isn’t that better. Just a minute. What are these things all down your neck.’

‘Birth marks.’

‘You did not get them at birth dear boy.’

‘Then I believe they are bruises.’

‘Teeth marks. That’s what they are. Someone’s teeth. Who gave them to you.’

‘Well I rather think that if they are what you say they are then that should in itself make you further disinclined to inquire, being as it is obvious that it is none of your business.’

‘I am beginning to think that your morals may be absolutely loose dear boy.’

‘And I suppose yours, madam, are not.’

‘As a matter of fact dear boy I am extremely choosey as to whom I go to bed with. And I think I should, as an older person who can help you with advice, know who precisely sank their teeth into your neck like that. It could have been some wretched little skivvy. I certainly don’t want you putting in me what you put in her. Although I’d hardly believe you have at your age put it up anybody.’

‘Well I have as a matter of fact.’

‘I think you’re fibbing.’

‘I’m not. I have quite numerous times put it up a lady.’

‘Who.’

‘That’s my business.’

‘I don’t believe you.’

‘Well don’t.’

‘I don’t.’

‘I could prove it if I had to.’

‘How could you. Certainly I’d imagine you’ve had your tumbles with scullery maids but not with a mature lady of the world. Those are bites of a rank amateur dear boy.’

‘My concubine made those marks, if you must know. And she is a lady of the world.’

‘Your concubine. Don’t make me laugh.’

‘She is in fact a German lady of title. A princess.’

‘Did she ever make hats.’

‘I think I have told you quite sufficient.’

‘I know her. My god dear boy you have been in the arms of a Polish Austrian militarist. And perhaps even a sadist. I do feel I’ve been absolutely tricked by you.’

‘I haven’t tricked you.’

‘Clearly you’ve already been corrupted. And were most likely whipped and trampled by high heels. And as recently as last night her awfully big Austrian mouth did that to you. How shameful. Where are you going.’

‘I am leaving.’

‘Come back here.’

‘You have no right to say such things to me.’

‘Well you do, my dear boy clearly require moral guidance. Come back to bed. Come back.’

‘I’m simply not in the habit of listening to people speak to me in such manner. And I regret my departure madam.’

‘Please don’t leave. It is quite lonely here alone you know. And I am a nice person really. It just so happens my father was a senior civil servant in the admiralty. And I feel rather strongly about Germans.’

‘Well apart from Germans I would quite like to hear of naval matters. What did your father do in the admiralty.’

‘He dealt with wrecks on the high seas. Treasure and all sturgeons, porpoises and whales. And I believe even flotsam and jetsam. I could always watch a coronation from a most favoured position overlooking the Mall. My mother’s family were all Indian army people. Please don’t put on your clothes. Come back into bed. You needn’t leave. I’d just like to talk to you. Really I would.’

‘Alright but you mustn’t question me.’

‘I’ll make you snuggly and warm. Get in. Nearer. I won’t bite you. Ha ha.’

‘Why are you divorced.’

‘Because my husband took up with boys. And absolutely delighted to shove his penis in their arseholes.’

‘And I suppose that was very sad for you.’

‘Sad, dear boy is not the word. The word is pittance. Which is how one describes my alimony. Of course at the time he was very junior at the admiralty. One wouldn’t have minded as much had the boys been refined, shall we say. But they were these rough hewn lower sorts that he absolutely delighted to bugger. Navvies, butchers, porters, dockers. It was all quite sordid.’

‘But I thought you were a socialist, madam.’

‘I hope that’s not meant to be funny. O God and now I just think what’s to become of my life. My art. Does any one give a damn. I’ve sold three pictures in four months. I sometimes lose all possible hope. O I do. I really do.’

‘Please, you mustn’t cry.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t want to cry. Really I don’t. Not in front of a mere boy. My only little comfort all these wretched months has been the BBC third programme. I can’t believe what’s come over me. I suppose I should have known.’

‘Known what, madam.’

‘Known from my husband’s christian names, Basil and Cecil. And that he’d been at a wretched not quite first rank public school. What to expect.’

‘What did you expect madam.’

‘I never could be absolutely sure. Till one evening I unexpectedly came home from visiting my ailing father. Poor dear man. He was in fact dying. O why does a young man like you want to hear this. You don’t do you.’

‘No. I don’t.’

‘Well blast you anyway.’

‘I’m only joking, please do tell me. It’s absolutely all so riveting.’

‘Don’t you trifle with me.’

‘I’m not. Please.’

‘Well I was going to tell you. That Basil and I had this dear little mews house. Just behind Sloane Square. This was of course just after he’d been to sea. And long before I moved to Bloomsbury. I did have dear friends there. We drank in the Museum pub. Of course none of this means a damn thing to you, does it.’

‘Well it’s not exactly as if I know these places. I’ve never been abroad.’

‘Well anyway we had thick carpeting on the stairs. And as I came up to the bedroom Basil was actually stuck up this boy who was, calm as you please, can you believe it, looking and leering at our wedding picture on the dresser. Had the wretched boy been erected I could have felt he was at least having some sexual thrill looking at us standing under the crossed swords of our naval honour guard. But no, he seemed to be leering at my husband’s fellow officers. As if he were our social equal. I picked up the first piece of bogus wedding gift statuary I could lay my hands on and threw it at them. It missed and quite appropriately I thought, smashed our wedding picture.’