J. Donleavy - The Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

Darcy Dancer watching Rashers waltz off in his morning suit much needing a pressing and repairs. People look so different outdoors. Just as they do when attired for hunting on a horse. Now pass the smells of coffee of another Bewleys. A dragon emblazoned in tiles at its front door. Turn left up along the Quays. The Ha’penny Bridge. Four Courts across the river. A green dome. Exacting justice. Throwing debtors into prison. All these buildings housing solicitors. And one of whom may be on my trail. Mouldering buildings of merchants. Georgian fronts. Red bricked. Gay painted doors. Bookshops and auction rooms. Antiques and furnishings. A Franciscan church. And soon I’ll have so many women in my life that I will because of their numerous number start forgetting them.

Darcy Dancer striding quickly now to catch the train. Past the big brewery. A grey granite barracks across the river. Flying my country’s flag. What a marvellous day for racing. White fluffy clouds blown across a sky so blue. The Phoenix Park. Top of the obelisk sticking out of its new green trees. Buy my ticket. First class on this packed train. Pull away out the tracks. On which one had come to Dublin. The big country houses hidden now in all the spring leafage. Click clack over a warming land. To this popularly attended race meeting.

Darcy Dancer with two other racegoers taking a taxi from the station. Nearly crashed us into a ditch or hedge at every turning on the road to the course. And there it was. This track. Spread on the green grasses to the horizon. Pennants blowing. The tiers where people sit and stand. The rich, the poor. The élite and untouchable. The parading horses. The bright fluttering silks. The ladies’ big gay hats.

Darcy Dancer standing in the mild breeze. Loud speaker announcing. Tweeds pass all round one. So many familiar faces. Hard to know quickly enough the ones to hide from. Their membership badges flying from lapels, sitting sticks and leather cases. Much as one wants to be with the right people one won’t splurge to go into the most expensive enclosure. Instead, in soft fond memory of Miss von B. Put an extra large bet on Blue Danube at fourteen to one.

Darcy Dancer’s light hurrying feet. Back to the bookie. Wait in this joyous tiny line. To collect. On the first race, a winner. Watch the peeling off of these thirteen pounds. Now in my pocket. To suddenly have money. To hell with form. Just choose another sentimental name. Moonhatter. Ten to one. Get to the bookie. Hop back to the rails. And my god. Back to the bookie again. For there in the sight of one’s binocs. This filly stampeding home. Sixteen lengths out front past the post. And I am forty pounds ahead.

Darcy Dancer’s eyes darting from face to face. Everyone at the races. And ghosts. Out of one’s past. Priest and parson friends of my mother’s. Up in the pavilion. As I stand with a wad of winnings amid the throng in front of these bookies. A fortune made. Put a fiver on Amphibious at twelve to one. Take an egg sandwich out of my picnic. For a bite and breather from the agony. Of watching the big bank where the horses climb to jump down. Uncle Willie said that with so many shenanigans going on that picking winners was something that comes out of your insanity. Creeping to tell you from way out on the edge of the world. But never before today has it ever told me anything twice.

Darcy Dancer dodging back and forth through the crowd. My hand feels so snug and warm in my pocket wrapped around money. Stand at the rail. They canter down. Amphibious is alive and kicking. So mild so sunny. The breeze blowing me luck. Prosperity after all these days. Makes everyone around look so charming. If my nerves simply will take it. But like my vagabond days. And in my moments of defeat. The words are. Press on. And they’re off. Stare down at my toes. And look up in the deafening roars. Wake again with the strange soaring elation. Amphibious by a nose. Collapsing me happily in a few seconds of marvellous heart failure.

Darcy Dancer dancing to the parade ring. With packed now in his tweed pockets over one hundred pounds. Walk on air. In one’s element. One’s demeanour takes on a totally new elegance. Stable lad as I once was. Now watch them leading their horses. Owners disporting in their natty suitings. Wives and daughters in the latest from ladies’ gazettes of fashion. My goodness. The Slasher sisters. Each in an umbrella sized straw hat. Trainers in cavalry twill. The jockeys mounting in their bright silks. And along the rail. A face. Staring at me. Matt. From the Awfully Stupid Kelly stables. Who catches my eye. And like a wounded animal moves away. Then looks back suspicious over his shoulder, not sure if it was me.

Darcy Dancer moving out from the rail and along by the backs of the crowd. Closer up to Matt. To see him in a shabby baggy brown suit. Unlike the racy tighter tweeds he wore. Bending over to cough. Hacking and spitting. His lungs heaving. Looking like he might die in a paroxysm. His shirt dirty. Collar ruffled and his cap torn. As I tap him gently on the back he turns to look.

‘Hello Matt.’

‘By god it is you. Sure you wouldn’t know you were the same person at all. I seen you there now at the bookie’s collecting a big win and as sure as I was it was you I was just as sure it wasn’t. You look now as if you’d had a bit of luck for yourself.’

‘I appear at least for the moment to be managing quite well.’

‘Well some of us are not. Turned on me they did.’

‘Who turned on you Matt?’

‘Would it be anybody else but those gombeen curs. Sacked me without even a week’s notice. Wasn’t but a day after you left. The ungrateful blackguards. You sweat your guts out. Give them your best. Sure the new butler stole them blind. Shifting stuff out of that place now, you wouldn’t believe it. Giving parties for his friends while they was away. You’re dolled up.’

‘Well I have rather bought a few things I needed.’

‘Ah now I’m not looking me best. Went on a bit of a skite. Drinking drinking everything I could lay me lips to. You might say I’m down a mite on me luck. Now I’m sorry I went that bit hard on you. Sorry I did that. Regretted it many a time. And you being a great horseman too.’

‘That’s nothing to worry about. Matt Come along with me. And I’ll get you something to eat. Or would you like a bit of my picnic.’

‘Ah I’m alright, thanks the same. But I’ll wait now till after this next race. Even though I haven’t had a bite to eat since yesterday. With only the few coppers I’ve got left in me pocket. Some of the lads give me a hand that I’d meet in the enclosure. But you couldn’t make me the lend of a quid or two could you. I’m gathering together what I can for the last race.’

‘Of course I could Matt.’

‘Ah thanks. My god though, I thought you might turn on me. But I can see now. You’re a gentleman. Real gentry. Grown now fine straight and tall. Not like them gombeen gob-shites. But I’ll tell you what you do now. Beg borrow or steal. Every last penny you can. And bet to win. That’s what I’m here for. No other reason. Sure I reared that Tinkers Revenge meself in the gombeen bogshites stable and I know the trainer well and once he’s let go he’ll show his heels to the lot of them. I don’t usually give a hoot about pedigrees but he’s got the blood of the great stallion Dancer in his veins. And an engine on him like the London to Glasgow express. Take no notice of that hundred to one. Some of the rest of us will benefit from that gombeen man’s cunning. And be fast before that gobshite puts his own bets on and reduces the odds.’

Matt moving off. The crowds flow back to the enclosures and stands. Darcy Dancer for light relief, putting twenty pounds on the favourite. Embroidery. Even money. Matt to meet me later. And everyone here from everywhere. Even the timber merchant I’d chased out of Andromeda Park. Passed by in the paddock. His face glowering when he saw it was me. And he turned to whisper to the man behind him. Our swarthy ruddy agent. Under his bowler hat and with a pretentiously tightly furled umbrella. Sneaking looks back at me over his shoulder as he and the timber merchant scurried away through the crowd. Rather nice feeling to find one can throw fear into somebody. As well as watch the favourite come in by three lengths.