J. Donleavy - The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

Upon further interview from this reporter, the lady of the misunderstanding said it was heinous to contemplate being at the mercy of Islam. She hoped that her husband, although in his early forties, would be an example to other Irishmen who sometimes left their wives in the lurch when violence was afoot. She attributed her husband's youthful agility to good toilet habits and grooming. But both of them had long been accustomed to doing eight deep knee bends at an open window each morning. She was especially glad that what had started as a hideous mystery could now be looked back upon as another incident where Irishmen, when oppression threatened, would rise up to take the cudgel or as in this case, hurling stick, to drive back the intruder. Her solicitors were looking into the question of damages.

Blackness gleaming on the large panes of glass. Soft lamplight below in the square and through the trees, the lighted windows in the Rubric. Balthazar sat slumped in his chair. Eyes closed. A strange terror seeping through one's veins. Defamed. Disgraced across the drawing rooms of Rathgar. Up and down the mahogany sideboards and in all the silver salvers. Balthazar B on my calling card. Caught in trespass lurking in the bushes. Who would ever believe I was but travelling north back to my abode. To see again this face of Beefy. Only friend I know.

"Dear boy. Dear boy. Don't take it like that. You're upset. Buck up. You crafty article. You got off with Miss Fitzdare. Good ankle. Ample about the chest. Slow to keep up with fashion. Bit of a blue stocking. But she has formidable connections with the Church of Ireland. Deep in with the ecclesiastics.' "I'm cast in a very poor light."

"It casts you in light dear boy that's all that matters."

"After such as this I'm not good enough for her."

"I am of course, Mr. B, not taking you seriously. Rash remark. If you look into it, you will always find, if not in the evening newspaper, something rather shoddy and shabby back in everyone's pedigree. Crafty frauds perpetrated upon poor old widows. Miss Fitzdare will have her little shabbinesses." "Don't please speak ill of her."

Balthazar leaning forward to his table. Elbows up on the worn top and hands at his temples. Beefy sad and quiet and reaching across a hand to put on Balthazar's shoulder. Evening bells tolling six. Newsboy shouts on the streets not so far away. And Beefy's voice.

"I'm sorry, I had no idea. I do retract my rather hasty and uncalled for remarks. Certainly you must not listen to me. Miss Fitzdare's a fine girl. You're quite right to feel the way you do."

Balthazar B said yes with a nodding head. Beefy stepped backwards to the door. The evening paper spread on the table. All its black and white print. A day begins prostrate on a field of grass. With some joys held in a hazy head. The kind blue warmth of you Fitzdare. Your magic and strength as you patted your horse. I wanted so much for you to lead me out to graze. Hold my reins. Give me laughing lumps of sugar.

Sweeten the sour look of me on this page. Where a world i65 wags a finger. And if I run they will bite at my heels. And if I don't.

They'll

Want

To sink

My soul.

That late winter the snow lay for weeks across Ireland. Sheep buried in drifts. Roads and railways blocked and racing cancelled at the courses. The giant brown pyramids of wet turf stacked in Phoenix Park. And when the snows left, the rains came.

Balthazar B lay late abed. In sweaters, shirts and socks. Cold winds shaking the great window frames. And when shadows settled over college. He went discreetly across the squares. To take half pints of creamy topped porter from the marble bar of the Wicklow Hotel. To soak up the warmth from the gleaming mahogany panelling. And at the latening hour to devour sea food and steak. Tucked down this narrowing street.

The Landship, of the monstrous rumbling motor, after these months motionless, was sold to Beefy. He came in motoring cap and leather coat to take it through its paces. Fourteen members of the rugby team pushed to start it out the back gate and along Lincoln Place. In Merrion Square the motor faltered and failed when the transmission fell out on the road. A team of horses came to haul it away to a mews garage. Balthazar offered Beefy his money back. And he gallantly refused.

"A bargain my dear chap is a bargain although one of us may not be amused."

Miss Fitzdare sometimes passed in a little motor all of her own. With just room for two and a package on the back seat. Of all the embarrassed days. Unable to face her carefree smile. When once even she waved at me. And I could not lift my hand or grin but fled. Till this April afternoon. The days were softening now. There came a rap on my door.

Horace had put a pitcher of beef tea at my side. I lay back on my chaise longue in a pose of indisposition. Which I often took. Through these days. Wearing purple ecclesiastic silk at my throat and a blue smoking jacket. To hold firmly the spine of a tome. The Morphology of Vertebrates. And Horace nipped his head in the door.

''Sir, there is a young lady calling upon you. A Miss Fitz-dare. Shall I show her in."

"My God."

"Ah you're not receiving."

"O no no. Show her in please."

"Very good sir."

The sound of feet in the hall. Horace's voice may I take your coat miss. And a voice melodic. Like a thrush sitting first and fat in spring. Here in my chambers. In all the dust. Something I can't believe. She would call on me. Horace so anxious I should be happy. And not lie entrenched and enclosed all these weeks. Writing letters back and forth to my trustees.

Who like to make me feel I am improvident.

The Temple.

London, E.G. 4

Dear Mr. B,

Your letter of the fourth instant to hand. We have acted upon your instruction to transfer the additional sum you request to your account with the Bank of Ireland. However, it is our duty to inform you, having regard for the magnitude of the additional monies, that we would be pleased if you would advise us of any not usual contingency which may have arisen unforeseen and with which perhaps we could assist in extending our advice. Do not hesitate to call upon us to be of any help. Meanwhile we continue to conduct settlement terms regarding the damage claimed with reference to your trespass and will keep you informed.

Yours faithfully,

Bother, Writson, Horn,

Pleader & Hoot

As my big black door opens. I stand to receive. Horace stiffly as he does coming to attention. She wears the black coat she wore that detouring night. Light silk on her legs and her shoes low heeled and gleaming with two flat little bows.

"Miss Fitzdare, sir.' "Hello."

"Miss Fitzdare. Do please, come in."

"Thank you."

"Would you bring another cup please Horace."

"Right you are sir."

"I do apologise for barging in like this. Walking along I couldn't help but see your light. You've not been at classes. You haven't been ill."

"No."

"O."

"Please, sit here Miss Fitzdare. I fear I've been rather flamboyant with this chaise longue. But during long afternoons it affords a simple calm comfort."

"O you mustn't move. Please don't. I'm fine right here. On the end. I don't really feel very, I don't know how to say it, but I shouldn't call on you like this, I know."

"I'm so glad you did. Really I am."

"I felt that perhaps there was something I did or said without realising and that I may have offended you."

"O no. You must never feel that. Here. Thank you Horace. Have some of Horace's beef tea. And could we have some more toast, Horace."

"Very good sir."

"You'll have some toast. And beef tea. And try this honey. Then we'll have china tea."

"I'd love to."

"Good. It's for me I suppose the most important wonderful part of my day. I have to hold myself back in the early afternoon. When four approaches I blurt out to Horace. Beef tea. I know it's awfully indulgent but then I have china tea and lemon to follow. Languorously sipping all the way to six o'clock."