J. Donleavy - The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

‘Now madam, would you mind just standing over there close to tears.’

And in fact she did do that very thing. Proceeding, her shoulders hunched over to the chimneypiece. Bending her head slowly into her hands and good lord releasing suddenly a cascade of sobs which made me jump up so fast and rush to her that I knocked over a side table stacked with tomes on lineage. To take her as best I could in a comforting embrace, which seemed to make her sob even louder. I was really getting scared. Saying, what’s the matter, please tell me and was nearly in tears myself, when she then burst into laughter.

‘Why you absolute dirty rotter to do that. I feel quite that you have made an absolute fool of me.’

I was in fact now standing there in actual tears of rage. And I gave her a good damn sock of my fist right on the shoulder. And she convulsed in laughter even harder. Till I really let her have a thundering hard punch on her thigh when she smacked me back with a bone painful blow to my own shoulder and sooner than soon we were grabbing, pulling, tripping, wrestling and crashing all over the place. God she is strong. Every time I thought I had her pinned down she twisted right up again out of my grasp. And threw me over. And she didn’t appear to be in the least concerned with the upheaval of pillows and crashing furniture. But I finally managed to get her in a scissor grip with my legs. And although she agreed to give up she had me bloody well twisted by my fingers and demanded I surrender first. And not being a ruddy bounder I naturally consented.

‘You are being absolutely unladylike madam fighting like a man.’

‘But of course what would you expect, for me to fight like a woman. You would then have your eyes scratched out.’

‘That is a most chilling thing to say.’

‘Ah but perhaps I should suggest some, warmer way of expending our energy that we ought really to try. But I think it must wait till a little later. Just in case there are inquisitive eyes and ears still awake.’

I was quite flushed in the face and I was amazed at her sudden indifference to her appearance and getting her dress mussed. And I brushed her off especially about the bosoms. And the white brilliance of her teeth as she smiled. We picked up the books and replaced other disturbed furnishings. Put logs on the fire and I lay my head back on her lap sitting on the floor. And just looking up into her eyes. The wind rattling outside. The crackling fire. So wonderful to have this conspiracy of love between us. Even if it was sometimes breached when we actually tried to kill each other in a fight, to only be, in just a matter of seconds later enraptured in writhing passion, flesh to flesh embraced. Our smells making one fume. If one could get that hot on such an extremely cool evening. And if too, of course she had let go of my badly twisted fingers. And climbing up the stairs her hair loosed from her combs and falling down her back I was going to ask her. Of what would happen if we ever had a baby. And if our love made another born, would it change anything between us. Then reaching the landing I couldn’t summon my voice to speak such words. And instead I asked, had all the war, all the death, destruction, made matters of who was better and more esteemed than another, any different. As when her shoes were worn through and broken and her clothes threadbare and she had no butter bacon or eggs. Did not the lack of such things then make her feel all dismally the same as everyone else. And did that make her feel glad and relieved that her elegances and superiorities need no longer trouble her.

‘Ah my grand fellow. You have got everything so arsey versy. My elegancies, they have never troubled me. But in matters of distinctions nothing changes. No cannon, no bomb is enough to shatter rank. But even if everybody suffers, your own suffering does not seem less. And there are always those for whom superiorities are dearly and bitterly important. Who still care so much about their privileges and distinctions. Either gained or lost. Either hoped for or disappointed. And they would wear their crowns and medals on their deathbeds. It is sadly an unchanging fact of life. That everyone does like to feel esteemed in the eyes of everybody else. No matter who they are.’

‘Even a king.’

‘Of course, even a king. He feels important in the eyes of God.’

‘I am an atheist.’

‘Only because you are nobody important. Except to me.’

We parted kissing. And I said I will return quickly. And as she tapped me on the tip of my nose with her finger she said, and I hope quietly and discreetly. And I checked every direction and especially for sounds on the staircases before proceeding in darkness in pyjamas, slippers and dressing gown, to Miss von B’s room. And who minds being no one important if I am important to her. Lock the door behind me as I enter into her pleasant smells.

‘Hello my little potato digger.’

‘I’m not speaking to you if that is the attitude you are adopting.’

‘But it is my term of endearment for you. Then I shall call you my prince.’

‘Yes, I do far prefer that.’

The candle burning on her dresser and moonlight coming in the window. Her riding clothes neatly laid over a chair. Not like my room where everything was strewn until someone else picked it up. And the top of her pair of boots crowned with her bowler. And together we will have many more hunting days soon. I may even keep my own pack of hounds. Jog the jolly doggies up and down dale. For the greater glory of their fine fettle. Invite only those with the proper social credentials who were also consummate masters of equitation to join one. Then as M.F.H. with her royal blonde beauteous highness just behind me, we would together set the entire hunting world astir with great rampages across the pastures of Thormondstown. Show those select few, sport of such majesty and magnificence that all would gladly die in satisfied joy following the close of day as they took their final sips of after dinner port. And of course I would have the field obey me as slaves. And any gentleman who mounted a lady or even pulled down their breeches to examine her bruises and scratches would be banned. Till next hunting season. Vets of course would come fully equipped with the necessary splints and bandages and would have handy their amputation knives. But be forbidden to fight with these. Especially with another of this profession as was frequently the case, due to their conflicting opinions given various clients on their ailing horses for whose costly demise one vet promptly blamed the other. So much squalor permeates the hunting field these days perpetrated by those who would attempt to make hunting history by their signally bizarre behaviour. Ruffians most odious. Of course anyone with the gall to even mildly flaunt my wishes in the field would succeed in making me immediately take the hounds home. But for those of the true spirit I would indeed provide such wild blood inspiring sporting gaiety that nothing in anyone’s life would succeed in vying with it.

‘And what my prince have you so intently on your mind that you should stand there like that.’

‘I am going to form my own pack of hounds.’

‘Ah, in your scarlet coat you will be master.’

‘Yes as a matter of fact.’

‘My prince. My master. How sad. I did so like you as my dear little bog trotter.’

Instead of taking off my pyjamas I just wish I had enough self discipline to deny my randy desperation and to just turn in my slippers and depart when she makes fun of me so. But dear me she is so attractive as she lies waiting there for me in bed. Her eyes look out, just looking. Somewhere there in the dark. The side of her face in moonlight and her smile just smiling. As I fold my pyjamas and gown, both in my mother’s racing colours which really I shouldn’t keep on wearing. And certainly not as I take a hurdle in Miss von B’s direction. Tingling all over. As one might do in the roar of hooves in a point to point race. Crashing over and through the willow branches of the jumps. Turf and leather flying. To be a haughty winner. Just as one seems to be so awfully proud standing here barefoot and rudely pointing one’s penis. And I must confess I did dally there centre carpet wanting her to see and I hope to admire it because the thought of her looking at it really made it glow. Lit up like a bicycle lamp. And her smile got bigger. She winked and pulled an edge of the bedcovers back. Her hand bringing out the yard stick which to my absolute astonishment was the same one Mr Arland used in the schoolroom. Good god she is going to hit me. Just like her previous slap. And I am indeed stepping right back the hell out of here.