J. Donleavy - The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

And at another table I could hear a voice. Of elegant graceful quivering civility. Beefy. I look down on my plate of ham again. And hope someone will pass the salt. Bad manners everywhere. And tonight go back. Sit the evening out. Pretending some feeble joy at the remembered morphology of Annelida. Where the central nervous system consists of a pair of preoral ganglia connected by commissures to a postoral ventral ganglionated chain. When I am absolutely insane to be laid. Mind putting afloat one obscene thought after another. And through this darkness after commons I returned lonely to rooms. Pumped the bellows at the fire. Sharpened pencils, pulled on my ear lobes, shook my head and sat with elbows planted holding the palms of my hands against my face.

When there was a knock. And I opened the door.

"You are a singular chap, Mr. B. Huddle yourself away at commons. You should have come to sit with me. Bloody awful evening. Come to pay my respects. May I come in."

"Of course, but yes."

"Saw your light. What is this awful stuff."

"Zoology."

"O very handy, that. I hope you don't think Fm barging in.

Fact of the matter is, I've come to ask you along to a little soiree. Will you come."

"I'd be very pleased."

"You are a terrible shy man. You know you haven't changed one bit. I saw you several times. Crossing Front Square. My rooms are up in the corner. Overlooking the ladies who go to and fro in number four. I said that chap I know him. But one doesn't want to intrude. I wonder often what brought me here. And it's always that no one else would have me."

Beefy in black thick tweed sitting back in the hard worn wooden chair. Knees fallen widely apart. As rain tapped the great panes of glass. And spreading and streaking pressed by the wind. Wild shadows against a dark sky. The shaking branches of the old trees. To see this round and ruddy face that went jaunting fearlessly through the woods. Those years ago. His hands now gently folded across his waistcoat.

They walked together through a dark rainy college. At the front gate Beefy tipping water from his black chapeau hailed a taxi. To ask the driver to go down Fenian Street between the dark houses. Shadows behind the tattered candle lit broken windows. Newspapers pressed as patches and torn curtains over the glowing sacred hearts. The Grand Canal lock and past the yeasty smell of gas works. Till the evergreen thickets of Trinity College Botanic Gardens went streaking by. And the world widened to lawn and warm golden lights.

Turning down this Ailesbury Road. Under the winter branches of the trees. Walls and fences of large houses. Aloof and stately in the dark. They stopped before a gate and path up to a lighted entrance porch. And went up the steep granite steps. Beefy pulled down a great brass handle on the door and it opened. Inside was warmth and gaiety. A room with greeting eyes. When one doesn't know what to do with hands.

Step forward or stay where you are. Say hello. Or how do you do.

And as each was introduced round this circle of college people. Faces I knew passing in the squares. So full of colour now. A supper laid out through the wide doors on a great mahogany. Pinks and blues and light laughter. And at a high mantel. Its cold marble level with her shoulders. In the blackest of shimmering satin. Her chin held high and a small smile upon her face. Miss Fitzdare.

Across the wide salon. Four musicians played. The little band of college people took partners and swept waltzing away to outer rooms. I stand and swallow and so try to remain still. Not trip flat on my face. To go across and say hello to her. Dear God tell me. Just some more words I can add. To hello. Yes. That's it. I saw you with your horse. No. That will never do. Approach with a blank mind. Out which something stunning must come.

"Hello. I saw you with your horse."

"My horse."

"Yes. I think it was your horse."

"Horse."

"Yes."

"Horse. Goodness."

"Yes. It was a horse."

"Dear me what are you trying to say."

"I don't know."

"O well you mustn't look all upset about it. Please let me get you a drink."

Miss Fitzdare with a steady sure hand around the neck of a decanter. Just as she held reins that day. To pass her perfume so near under my nose now and pour forth a nutty sherry. She smiles and seems to like me. So strange and precious. After all the bundling up in tweed, and her boots tramping through the mud. Now a glittering diamond bracelet on her wrist.

"There."

"Thank you."

"That will make you feel much better. I think. Now the word was horse. You said horse to me."

"Yes I did. I saw you with your horse. Or somebody's horse.

AtBaldoyle."

"You race."

"I hardly do anything else."

"O surely not."

"I won seven pounds on your horse."

"I'm so glad. That was good of you to put a bet on Fasciola.

Let me pour you some more sherry."

"Thank you."

"You must go racing often."

"I go racing nearly every day there's racing."

"You have that enormous car. It's so enormous."

"O it's not really."

"You must give me a ride in it one time."

"I'd love to. If you would come."

"Certainly I'd come."

"Wednesday. After zoology practical.' "Yes. I'd love to."

"We could drive to Stepaside. And up the mountain.' "That would be wizard."

"Well I think it really would be too. Would it be all right if I helped myself to more sherry.' "Do. But let me."

"I haven't really been invited."

"O but you were."

"Was I."

"Your hostess asked Beefy to bring you. She thought your car darling. But you're not a rich rich prince, are you."

"Good Lord. Who said that."

"Rumour all over college."

"My God."

"You are then a rich rich prince."

"Would you mind if I just had another little bit of sherry.

This news is very worrying."

"Why don't you ever talk. You just never talk to anyone."

"I don't know how."

"Nonsense. You're one of the most interesting people. I don't think anyone has been seen in college in knickerbockers for years. So nice to see, I don't think they flatter older men.

You look so well. Your yellow gloves and cane."

"Miss Fitzdare. Will you dance with me."

"I'd love to."

To take her hand. And put mine on the soft satin of her back. The blazing log fire throws red shadows. So far away from all the rain. One wakes shivering with cold this Sunday morning. To find after a long drawn day such kind welcome.

Glad to see me. Their eyes sparkled and shone. To chatter away all the emptiness. Lowering on the dark afternoons when the horses have run. And I stray into a country pub. By the cold eastern shore of the sea. And sit. And let the winter stay and stay in my mind. The dark clothed natives steal up near. Enquiring in French or German whether I speak either tongue. And as I replied that one did not, they plowed on darkly in tongues invented on the spot. Until I would ask them what they were drinking. Ah well since ye ask that question and I wouldn't want to confuse you with a foreign tongue I'll have a ball of malt. A world alive in the world.

With all its own land and sky. And Mick here he's a friend of mine who has stood on Broadway and Forty Second Street Fm telling you that's a fact with all them lights blazing in his eyes. To smile and feel the gentle beauty. No mixed bathing in Ireland. Nakedness long banned from pubs. And here amid the chippendale. Faintest powder upon her face, reddish purple of her lips. This mixed evening of young ladies and gentlemen. Generous gladness. Some arms bared above the elbow. If at five in darkness I sat in my rooms. Horace said ah wait till you have the great doings in Trinity Week sir, then there'll be some great lookers about and you can take your pick.