J. Donleavy - The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

‘How mournful for you.’

‘I can still hear that awful boy’s words. Ere ere you, control your missus will ya. O God. And I was even pregnant then. Now I’ve got nobody. I want someone to love and someone to love me. Just somebody to be with in the world. Is that too much to ask. Is it. O how would you know.’

A massive pounding and hammering on the door. Lois sitting back up on her elbow, her hand reaching across to cover Darcy Dancer’s mouth. And her breasts, nipples at attention, sticking out over the quilt. The voice down there shouting.

‘I know you’re in there.’

‘Madam, what’s that.’

‘Dear boy, don’t move, don’t make a sound. While I blow out the candles.’

The door rattling and banging. The glass trembling in the skylight. The grey cat scurrying across the floor and leaping up on top of the bookcase and knocking a bottle to the floor. A stink of turpentine.

‘Open up. Open up or I’ll break the fucking door down. You’ve got some little squirt in there. I’ll kill him.’

Lois’s muscles stiffening. And I feel at my shoulders the soft edge of her bosom and her heart beating nearly as fast as mine. Requiring one to inquire.

‘Is that person referring to a squirt talking about me.’

‘O no. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. This sometimes happens. I was telling you. Drunks.’

The sound of kicks. Foxy said there was nothing as good as a swift uppercut of a boot for opening up an entrance into anything.

‘I’ll get that little squirt if I have to break the fucking door down. Are you opening it.’

‘He is referring to me.’

‘Hush, dear boy.’

A crash, grumblings and curses. Another crash. Milk bottles. Over which feet are fortunately tripping. And from the sounds. Something tells me I ought to be up and perhaps elsewhere.

‘O my god, dear boy. He has broken in. Get under the bed. Immediately.’

Darcy Dancer out of the bed clothes like a frog. Pushing and squeezing a shoulder against the small gap between springs and floorboards.

‘There’s no room.’

‘Then get under the drapery. There behind the dais. It’s over the chair.’

Darcy Dancer feeling his way crouching across the mid-room darkness. More thumping thunderous noises and vituperations on the stairs. As I nearly come a cropper putting a foot straight into my shoe. Knew soon as I saw the new moon through the glass on the train that there’d soon be ill luck ahead. From the feel of this drapery, it was hanging in the back of the Count’s portrait. Lois had just wrapped her hand tightly around my penis as I was right in the middle of the unanimous declaration of the thirteen united states of America, memorized for Mr Arland. That all men are created equal, with certain unalienable rights. And that among them is life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Each latter one of which I’m going to lose by the sound of things. As one wraps up in and under this dusty musty bolt of cloth over this chair. The last time I did huddling like this with Foxy, matters were mournful indeed. And these feet are coming pounding awfully heavy in a toe crushing manner up the stairs.

‘Open this door.’

‘It’s open.’

‘Where the fuck is the little cunt. And give me some light.’

‘What do you mean by breaking in here like this. Get out. I won’t give you light. I shall instead inform the police.’

‘Shut your fucking gob woman, or I’ll shut it for you. Even in darkness I’ll get the little cunt.’

‘There is no other person here but me. And I would be awfully appreciative if you would vacate the premises. In less euphemistic words, get out.’

‘I will in a tinker’s tit get out. I’ve fucked you before and I’ll fuck you again.’

‘How dare you assume rights over me. You’re clearly drunk.’

‘You’re fucking well right I’m drunk. I’m laggards. The Bug came in a winner at twenty to one. And I’ve had twenty bottles of stout. Would I come humping an old whorer like you if I wasn’t drunk. And give me some light before I puncture a halo around your head with a Polish nine millimetre Parabellum.’

‘You do have, along with your extremely poor manners, the most amazingly unpleasant command of English.’

‘You’ll have obsequies in Gaelic and a poor funeral to attend when I catch this fucker. Lights. And quick.’

Lois striking a match. The reddish gloom and shadows. Her trembling hand lighting a candle. To bathe faint yellow on this gentleman. Whom I last saw roaring his declarations from the Count O’Biottus’s chaise longue. And who now with an awful thud lays a big black flat sided pistol next to Lois’s paint daubed pallet on a small round table. As she lights another candle. Five big buttons down the gunman’s open macintosh. A stub of a cigarette sending smoke up between his cupped fingers. The knot of a tie just peeking out over the rim of his mustard coloured sweater with a strand of its wool thread unravelling on the floor. His feet flat apart. A great broad domed forehead.

‘Don’t you bring guns in here.’

‘Sure it’s only me old equalizer. But it’s quieter to knock both your heads off with a fist than it is to blow them off with a gun. Now get him out from under them bed covers or maybe I will start shooting.’

‘O god, are you mad.’

‘My mental happiness hasn’t been that good lately and you might say I’m not too far from it.’

‘He’s not in here. These are my knees sticking up the covers. You awful RAC people.’

‘Get the initials right at least, can’t you you awful pommie.’

‘AI or RA it’s all the same to me. Well look around why don’t you then. Under the dishes in the sink. Do you see him. Do you see anybody. Hiding behind the paintings. Or even under that drape there. And you have audacity to come breaking down my door.’

Lois putting her fingers to her temples. The gunman picking up the black pistol, holding it up to the candle light.

‘And with a lethal weapon.’

‘It’s only me semiautomatic emblazoned with the Polish eagle. But with a muzzle velocity of one thousand one hundred and fifty feet per second it puts a nice tiny hole in you. Sure I’d have to shoot you straight in the head if I was to remind you I meant it.’

‘You have no prerogatives. No right whatever, to come transgressing upon my private life in this manner. And stop waving that gun.’

‘Every nancy boy in Dublin said you fucking well went off with some school kid. And that’s the fact of the matter.’

‘Please don’t continue to use that language with me. And I’ll thank you to go. And come back when you are in a better frame.’

‘I’m in the frame for a fuck.’

‘Well fuck someone else why don’t you.’

‘Because I’m going to fuck you that’s why.’

‘That is rape. O God. Tiresome. You’re just full of romance and charm aren’t you. And stop taking off your clothes.’

‘I’ve got a horn on me that would whip a donkey out of a bog and he leaping in it.’

‘Well take your horn then and whip a donkey as you put it, out of a bog. But do it far away from me please. I’m simply too tired and exhausted. I’ve had a most difficult day.’

‘I’ll give you romance. Drag you out of here and fuck you up and down the steps of the Freemasons Hall. Sure the whole place is painted with pricks and balls. Take a look at these live jumping ones now for a start. I’ll impale you upon the spire of my passion. Can’t you see I’m dying for it.’

‘Well die. But please cover yourself.’

‘I’m going to cover you.’

‘O God please. I do beg of you don’t. If you have the least sense of decorum as a gentleman. Don’t please.’

‘Sure look at it. With its very veins bursting.’