J. Donleavy - The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

And Bella northwards to Metz and Reims. And now across your naked golden legs. Do you hear the birds. I stayed with you the whole night. I'm glad you did. Hear the garden keeper singing. Yes I do. Bella promise me you'll never forget this night. Of course I won't, go away now and brush your teeth.

And I'll bring you breakfast. Bella I want to shout and sing and go dancing down the street. Yes I know, now really you must must go. But it's nice, you were a boy when you came in last night. And I am happy for you.

For

Now

Out walks

A man.

And this waking and dying of all strange Sundays. Miss Hortense walking naked to the bath, barefoot on the parquet.

"Balthazar you're following me around like a little dog and you must not do that after today.'

And in the afternoon they went to Sevres. Through all the rooms and gleaming cases of porcelain. And later by the Seine on a grassy hill. Where fishermen sat with sleeves rolled up and elbows on their knees. Factory chimneys away on the sky. And back in Paris they walked up the steps across Rue Beaujolais and through the streets behind the Bourse. They sat in a tiny Russian restaurant. And the wife cooked and the husband served and played the piano. And they had asparagus and steak tartar.

Pushing shoving and peeking in and out they waltzed back to the Palais Royal. And kissed behind the closed front door. And Bella lit a candle in her room and said you are getting your good innings indeed. And together they undressed. And danced and played. Bella did what she called the prismatic prance. And stood in front of her mirror as the candle light shone. And said I dare you try and catch me. And I did. After all the games. And we lay locked and moist in bed.

Until the sound of an opening door. Just before the chimes rang ten. And Pierre's voice and the scrape of bags sliding on the foyer floor. Bella sat upright drawing in her breath.

"O my God I didn't bolt the door, get out of here. Pick up your clothes someone is coming."

The light faint and flickering, Balthazar ran grabbing and tripping across the floor to get out the door. Fingers clutching in a shoe, an arm squeezing together jacket and shirt. The click of his mother's heels in the foyer the end of the hall. To close Bella's door and get behind one's own. Leave the clothes strewn or be found skipping nude. To run with jacket and trousers clutched against the breast. And feel a faint sandy grit on the bottom of my feet. As a voice comes down from the dim light up the hall.

"Is that you Balthazar."

"No."

"What. Of course it is. Is it you Balthazar."

"I'm just going to my room."

"O. Well I'd thought I'd return and pack tonight and leave early tomorrow for Menton. Chantilly was such a bore. How are you getting on. Why don't you put on the light. That is you Balthazar."

"Yes."

"Switch on, I can't see you. Is something the matter."

"No."

"Would you help Pierre, he has to fetch four more bags.

Put on the light for heaven's sake."

"No."

"I'll put it on. It's irritating to speak to someone in the dark. Good God. What are you doing standing in the hall clutching your clothes like that."

"Nothing, I have come from the bath."

"Well wear a robe. What's that stuck in Miss Hortense's door."

Balthazar slowly stepping backwards towards his door. His mother in a dark blue flowered dress, its silky sheen gleaming in the chandelier light. Her blond hair drawn tightly back on her head. The great diamonds on a finger flickering blue and pink as it pointed to the white cloth hanging from Miss Hortense's door.

"I think it would appear to be a curtain."

"A curtain. No it's not. Is she in there. Miss Hortense, are you in there."

In solemn dry history books Miss Hortense said. There are times of treaty and times of war. When no one is poor and there's nowhere to go and many guns to make. And people feel better because they don't always have to think of them- selves. And love is sadder and stronger then. Because you might be killed.

"Yes Madam."

"Something is stuck in your door."

"Thank you Madam.' To stand so frozen here. Covering all this pain. Why doesn't she go away. Don't ever come close to me.

"Good God, your tie there Balthazar, and this. This is your shirt. What is it doing here. May I ask. In Miss Hortense's door. What is going on.'

"Miss Hortense was sewing my sock."

"And you had to take off your shirt and trousers and underwear."

"I have been to the bath."

"Yes and I think it is time you should go to your room. If it is not a little nudist colony here. And I think I should have perhaps a word with Miss Hortense."

"Stay away from her."

"What did you say."

"I said to stay away from Bella."

"I will do what I choose in my flat, my dear boy."

"Do not open her door.'

"And what if I do."

"I will not return here ever again."

"You are taking such a privilege away. What foolish talk.

This is my house. Miss Hortense is my employee."

"She is paid with my money."

"To be sure. We are suddenly so aware of our rights. She is still my employee. And if I choose to speak to an employee I shall."

"You shan't refer to her in that fashion."

"And what fashion would you have me choose. To find your clothes strewn about. Stuck in Miss Hortense's door.

You have some other term for Miss Hortense perhaps. I think so. Miss Hortense, may I have your attention a moment please."

"Just a moment."

"I can wait. It is no trouble. Yes I think perhaps I ought to know more of what is taking place while I am away. Why don't you go to your room, Balthazar."

Miss Hortense opening her door. The pale profile of her face.

"It is just to ask, my dear, that I should like to chat with you tomorrow morning. About nine thirty. Sharp, please. I think we may have some things to discuss."

"Very well madam."

His mother turning. Her eyes of cold blue steel. Her back stiff and straight. And legs long and elegant. Click click click like a soldier she walks away.

"Bella please don't worry."

"Balthazar please goodnight get your clothes and go to bed."

To fall down through white tumbling sheets in a night of dreaming. And wake wide eyed to remember last morning Sunday, as Bella sat with breakfast tray and read the black headlines across the newspapers and said o Balthazar I think there is going to be war. It comes like that with photographs of men in high white collars with briefcases stepping from grand trains. They sit at great tables with glasses of water. Never any trust with treaties and someone will wield the sword. And that awful war there was before. My father said the rats roamed and ate the bodies of the dead and the whole sky smelled for miles. Like a yellow suffocating dust. And those horrid men with their black ties, smiling with their pens signing papers. Dearest Balthazar if ever guns spit red and smoke and fire please be far away. Tears in Bella's eyes as she poured our coffee in our white cups and the sheet dropped down from her breasts. She clutched it up and let it drop again and smiled. Her bosoms so strange and big when she leaned that way and nipples bright and hard. And then so tall and slender like a reed in the candle light. I chased her and her breasts bounced up and down. I caught her round the waist. She laughed to push down my arms. Her thighs so long and strong and so much bigger than mine. Just to know and know I could touch them and feel a long straight muscle hardening there. And not be pushed away. Bully you without clothes she said and tickle. Everything's unfair in this game. Now Balthazar stand still. I want to see you. Like a little statue so white and thin. You are a fountain and water should come out of here. And now, o now, I turn it on. With her open palm to reach and touch me, stay still, so stiff, you tremble. Fingers touching so lightly there. All along this funny little line underneath. Balthazar my beauty. Your splendid flower, its pink rose tip. And white blue veined stem. And all its tiny blond new leaves of hair. Bella am I brave to stand still. Yes. And beautiful. And I closed my eyes. O Bella it's coming out of me. Let it. And see where it lies. Like white melted pearls in my hand. And you are. A little fountain. And this is my gift in our unfair game. And yes I can pick you up and carry you. O gosh Balthazar, you know. What I shall do.