J. Donleavy - The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

A great glass topped table stacked with ribboned documents and a black strong box with Balthazar's father's name written in silver. Balthazar's mother in the centre front row of chairs, crossing her long black stockinged legs, and her hand tugging the edge of her skirt down on her knee. She turned to Balthazar, patting the seat next to hers. He shook his head and held nannie's hand. The door closed and the key turned in the lock. The lawyer put on his glasses and nodded and waited and a man came to nannie's ear. He whispered and she dropped Balthazar's hand, stood and moved towards the door. Balthazar with blazing eyes and clenched fists.

"Stay nannie, stay with me."

"She cannot little boy."

"She must she must."

Out the window a sudden cooling breeze blowing over the tree tops. Great grey thundery clouds collecting. Uncle Edouard raising a right arm and flickering his hand.

"But of course nannie should stay."

The Maitre looking over the faces until he nodded towards Balthazar and then to nannie and then to Uncle Edouard who leaned forward over her shoulder.

"Balthazar, the little boy, perhaps he would give the signal to begin, it is technical of course."

"Begin."

"Ah like the father, he has authority as well as anger."

A cool breeze pushed out the heavy green drapes at the windows. The clouds growing greyer and sky darker as Maitre's voice was raised above the honking traffic in the street below. Who are those three ladies nannie. They are your aunts from the country. What are they holding. They are holding jars of honey. Why. Shush you must listen to Maitre. What do hotchpot and trustee mean nannie. They mean important things. Why do you squeeze up your forehead nannie, it doesn't make you look nice. I know but shush now.

"I want to wee wee. You must come and hold it for me."

Maitre lowering his manuscript. Balthazar standing and pulling nannie by the hand. A young man turning the key and opening the door and leading them along the hall.

"Come in nannie."

"Go yourself."

"No."

"O God."

"You must not say o God. You must hold it for me. I do not want to be unkind to you nannie, but I will shout if you don't. Now that I am awfully rich you must do what I tell you."

Balthazar returning with nannie across these soft carpets. Maitre reads on. A heavy rain falling on Paris. Winds sweeping over the chestnut trees and lightning streaking bright blue across the rooftops. Maitre flinching at the splintering shatter of thunder. The young man in the grey suit and flattened gleaming black hair closed the windows. Uncle Edouard taking deep breaths and sighing, ah ozone, ozone. The last page turned over. Maitre looked over the top of his glasses and laid the white and red beribboned document on his desk. The little assembly sat in stillness. Maitre cleared his throat and pulled slowly at the end of his nose.

"Are there any questions, please."

Uncle Edouard putting back his arms and yawning loudly.

"Ah yes, why are men more fond of dogs than other men."

"Monsieur I think that is perhaps on this occasion out of my arrondissement to answer."

"I am happy to withdraw the question. Lawyers, ah yes, they have courage. But only when it is time to send the bill. It is time by my watch for my steam bath. Besides I always like to be only five minutes away from my camembert in case it is the end of the world and only a little Beaujolais is left. Gevrey Chambertin."

The little gathering rose. The young man unlocking the door. Uncle Edouard taking a stance, heel clicking the ladies departure. The jars of honey placed in nannie's hands. The three aunts each in turn patting Balthazar on the head. Their fat black new shoes sticking out from their long black skirts. One held a cane, and had big brown teeth when she smiled.

And this evening a fresh green darkness over Paris. Nannie hurried through the figures collected in the doorway. Tightly squeezing Balthazar's hand as they stepped down the grey steps under the ivy entwined glass canopy. Her big eyes full of tears pushing him up on the high black leather seat of Uncle Edouard's car. She stood wiping her hands across her mended greeny tweed travelling skirt. Her eyes crinkling as she tried to smile.

"We'll be going to Dover. You'll see the big white cliffs from the boat."

"Will there be a little boy I can play with in England."

"Yes."

A loud explosion. The motor jumped forward and nannie jumped back. Uncle Edouard ripping off his helmet to stand in front of the machine wagging his finger.

"You, you machine, you are the first self starting machine in Paris and so help me God you will start or I will kick off your fenders."

Uncle Edouard climbing in again. A yessy grin at Balthazar. And again pressing the little black button. A splutter and the machine rumbled and fumed into life. Light gleaming on his mother's golden hair, her black veils clutched around her shoulders. All v.an smiles and waves. They push you away, and say goodbye. Then you are lonely and afraid with all the emptiness deeper and deeper everywhere.

The motor passed honking and lights flashing out across Avenue Foch. Uncle Edouard shaking his fist at a terrified automobilist he narrowly missed. They whizzed by the little triangular peak of land at Avenue Bugeaud with a squeal of tires and bumped over the rainbows of cobble stones agleam in the yellow flood of headlights. Uncle Edouard squeezing the black rubber bulb of his squawking horn. At the Place Victor Hugo under the lamplight a dark figure stepping from the curb turned suddenly to raise an umbrella and shout at the approaching motor.

"Infidel, infidel, I am holder of the Carte for War Injury, third class."

"Out of my way Monsieur, I am holder of the Carte d'Auteur Legion Pornographique, avec une palme et deux balles, first class."

Balthazar turning to look as the car sailed past, and an old gentleman swooned back from the road to fall into the lap of a cafe customer and both with table and citron presse went crashing to the ground. When I bombarded Uncle Edouard with the cheese, he said I was a little brat.

"Why are you not a big brat to do that to that gentleman."

"Ah but I am."

A man in beret and blue overall with a banana long red nose and tiny dark eyes opened back two huge gates. The motor entered a grey stone paved courtyard and rolled to a stop under a vast glass roofed garage lined with motorcars, two wicker gondolas, and tall potted palms.

"Anatole this is my little nephew Balthazar, he is our guest.

Come Balthazar, you have not been here before. You will like it."

"I may not."

"Ah you are a persistently disbelieving little chap aren't you. You must be my friend and I will be your friend."

A looming hairy shadow in the half light behind a gently arching palm. Balthazar stops and moves back a frightened step.

"What is that."

"That is the most dangerous bear in the world. The Grizzly."

"Is he real."

"Ah he is stuffed but he is real. He charged out at us in the Yukon. We had no warning. He is eleven feet high and alive he weighed five hundred kilos. He is too big for the house."

Uncle Edouard taking off his helmet and brushing his hand lightly down his gay checked suit. From his lapel floated a tiny red balloon, the Legion d'Honneur aloft, which bounced about as he led the way up a metal staircase to a glass door.

Anatole opening it and carrying Balthazar's bag.

"What did you do when the bear came after you."

"Of course I dropped to my knee to take aim. Everyone else they ran. I had just time to fire. I knew there would be no hope if I did not at once hit a fatal spot. I aimed for the eye. Bang. He was but ten yards away and coming like a train. I fired again but he was upon me. I jumped to the side. His paw caught me on the shoulder, tearing right through. It was but a shallow scratch only. Of course it made me a trifle nervous. I had only the left arm to fire the rifle into the side of his head. He could not see out of one eye but at such close quarters his claw came down like so and my jacket it was torn in half. The situation was very dangerous. You follow me. It was terrible. I shot again below the ear. At last he went down. It was like an earthquake. The brambles, the roots, clumps of grass all went flying in the sky. I had won. In sadness I came close and aimed between the eyes. Bang. It was all over. He was a brave bear. Afterwards I had a marvellous appetite. A true Frenchman does not reserve all valour for the battle field but for the dinner table."