J. Donleavy - The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

‘Have you a christian name.’

‘Yes. But that too has been changed.’

‘To what.’

‘Awfully.’

Down into a hall, lighted with brass chandeliers. Long refectory tables. A young woman serving soup. Stares at me. And stares again when I stare back. Chunks of leathery beef floating in thin brown gravy. Lemonade and tea to drink. Awfully Stupid sitting next to me. Being awfully loud slurping up his food. Purejoy at a distant corner table turned round once to look. With other heads boisterous and noisy turning with him. No doubt to rain retribution upon me for my reluctant attitude. To become a big bully with them. By midnight tonight I will be miles away. Wear three pairs of socks and all my six pairs of underwear. Head out cross country in the opposite direction from the new moon. Awfully Stupid nervously next to me nudging my elbow.

‘I say, Kildare, they are rather looking at you, aren’t they.’

‘So it seems.’

‘They call themselves the Presidium at that table. For infractions of their rules they conduct courts. You must be careful not to offend them.’

The serving girl still staring each time she comes to our table. Now when I look at her she casts her eyes down as she stands waiting with dinner ended. The clattering of dishes and shuffling of chairs and the silence as two masters from a high table file out. Followed by the bigger boys of the Presidium. Purejoy central among them. Who with three others now turned again to regard me with rather sickly grins as they passed. I stood next to Stupid who throughout the meal as I left food on my plate asked my permission to scrape it off on to his. I also gave him my entire pudding. Which seemed nothing more than stale bread chunks soaked in warm milk. Of which latter I could get plenty from some cow in a pasture tonight.

‘Stupid. Why not use your middle name for you. Do you have one.’

‘Yes.’

‘What.’

‘Kelly.’

‘It’s not very original. But we’ll call you that then. At least it’s much better than Awfully Stupid.’

‘I hope no one finds out you’re not calling me Awfully Stupid.’

‘Don’t worry if they do. They’ll have to account to me.’

‘But they can be wretched. They always travel together. And have bodyguards. Supreme number one two and three conduct attic torture after lights out. They push red hot pins into your skin. If you cry out they later shove your head under water in the tub. And if they think your bottom is awfully attractive they bugger you.’

A bell tolling eight. Darcy Dancer with Awfully Stupid in the library. As this boy whisperingly showed a play he had written and kept secretly hidden stuck up underneath a library table. Another boy entering as Awfully Stupid tucked his manuscript up under his sweater.

‘Are you Kildare.’

‘Yes.’

‘God I’ve been looking all over school for you. Follow me. Mr Michael wants to speak with you in his study.’

Following this boy out to the front hall. And up the main flight of stairs and along to the end of another corridor. Stone flagged, chill and Gothic. The boy asking if I played cricket or rugger. And said nothing further when I said no. He left as I knocked. Come in. A small sitting room. Warm inside. A turf fire blazing in the grate. Mullioned windows left and right of the chimneypiece. Books on opposing walls from floor to ceiling. This gentleman with long black wavy hair and sad brown eyes in a grey tweed suit. An insignia on his blue tie just like one I’ve seen Mr Arland wear. Bag of golf clubs in the corner. He puts a hand out. To shake rather softly mine.

‘Please. Sit down. It’s all very strange for you I’m sure. This institutional life. I understand you’ve not had the doubtful pleasure of being in a school before.’

‘No sir.’

‘Well I’m sorry we’ve temporarily had to put you among smaller boys. But we weren’t quite expecting to have you so soon. Indeed we were only expecting you for an interview. However. We’ll get it all sorted out. Mr Arland is an old friend of mine. Speaks very highly of you. I’m not exactly headmaster but I’m senior enough perhaps to be able to do some things which may make your stay here more comfortable. Wretchedly cold out in the dormitories for a start I know. Please don’t continue to stand. Do sit.’

‘Thank you. But I’d just like to stand sir. I’ve been sitting rather much already today.’

‘By all means, then. I suppose you’re well used to big old gloomy places like this. From what Mr Arland tells me.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Well both he and I were together nearly Trinity’s entire golf team. He’s always been a somewhat shy retiring fellow. But a cracking good golfer. Easily ranked among the very best. He’s very sad no longer to be tutoring you. But I suppose you already know that.’

‘Yes sir.’

‘Tell you what. I think we might make things here a lot easier for you. School’s chock full of a lot of little ruffians. And a few but very few, rather tough types. Not to worry. We have to get used to you just as you have to get used to us. But I might just be able to see to it that you have no hard passage to row. But no favouritism you understand.’

‘Thank you sir, but really it isn’t necessary.’

‘Well I’m not sure you may not find it so. It is not as if you have come out of some other school. You know going through the mill. The hard knocks, and all that sort of thing. What.’

‘Well one does, merely by living a country life come by hard knocks, sir.’

‘Ha ha I’ll bet you do by jove. Mr Arland said you chase the fox.’

‘Yes.’

‘Well plenty of hard knocks in that pursuit.’

‘I agree sir.’

‘We’ve had scarlet coats through here a number of times. Had to fetch a man rolled on by his horse to hospital with two broken legs. Awful sight he was too. But the defiant gentleman was trying to fight us away and be lifted back up on his horse.’

‘Remounting is essential sir in order to ensure your nerve is not lost.’

‘Good lord, what about the man’s legs.’

‘You can always ride without legs but not without nerve, sir. At least if you have even a little bit of legs left.’

‘Well anyway. Legs or not, you seem well able to take care of yourself. And you know where to come. Find me here most Monday and Thursday evenings. Just knock. And Mr Arland tells me, you do a little reading.’

‘Not really as much as I should sir.’

‘Well you’re welcome to these shelves any time.’

‘Thank you sir.’

‘And tell me, not that I want to pry into your relationship with Mr Arland, but you do know who Mr Arland’s father is.’

‘No sir.’

‘Ah. Well that is not, that question, let me hasten to say, indicative in any way that you should know.’

‘I know his father is an aristocrat sir. But that is all I know.’

‘O well that’s enough. We could all do with being more aristocratic. Not really that it is finally any spiritually decisive factor in living a better life. But it materially helps to get one going. Course it can sometimes hinder one to keep going. So. Good to have you with us, Kildare. Goodnight.’

Back through the corridors. Hear my footfalls echo. Men make that sound going to the scaffold. Sound of voices elsewhere. Portraits on the walls. Scent of turf smoke. Organ music. Get back fast now to plan. Would pack what I could in a pillow case, if it weren’t so white. Best fill a sweater, tie the sleeves closed, break an ashplant out of a hedgerow. And carry my woolly possessions suspended over my shoulder. That just sounded like a scream. Followed by piercing laughter. Getting educated like this must be a barbaric experience.

Darcy Dancer entering the dormitory. Faint yellow light. My bed down the far end. Past all these others. Must pass so many beds undetected. Two boys giggling and shoving. Stand aside for me to civilly walk by. As if I might bite them if they did not. The girl who served soup. Something about her face nearly familiar. Standing at the side of my own bed. Smoothing down the blankets with the palms of her hands. Awfully Stupid sitting there. Clad in green pyjamas and pink socks. Jumps up as I arrive. Everybody’s eyes in this place are like those of a frightened animal. And this girl. Even as she leaves. Grey sweater peeking out at the throat and sleeves from underneath a blue overall. I cannot think why she would stare at me so. Just as I find I stare back. Each time rather more wanting to look in her eyes.