J. Donleavy - The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

"What do you hear."

"Nothing. Not anything worth repeating. And what's in here."

"Well I made a little effort to use this room as an antechamber. It's where the American driven out by the bitter cold made his last stand. I use it for nothing in particular at all. That's a little print I bought."

"It's nice."

"And those are early editions of zoology texts."

"O aren't they lovely. How wonderful. Wherever did you get them."

"On the Quays."

"You are a strange one Mr. B. One never knows about people. I never would have thought you collected books. I don't mean that in any way derogatory. But when one saw you in your enormous car, I thought you were the complete sporting gent. And not bookish at all."

"Well, Miss Fitzdare, I fear you really still don't know me. Now. You see over here. Notice, all locked up out of sight. But there you are."

"Goodness, magazines."

"Movie magazines. That's really what I read."

"I won't believe it. O I think you're having me on."

"It's absolute gospel. That's how I while away my days."

"O you don't."

"I do."

"You're reading morphology."

"It's just one of my guilty days. I settled down to some morphology. Usually I'm engrossed with film stars. I like the reckless abandon with which they live."

"O Mr. B you do amaze me. Thank you for showing me your rooms."

"Thank you for coming to see me."

"I'm awfully glad I did."

"I'm glad you did."

"So till Sunday. If you can manage about one."

"Yes. That's splendid."

"My coat."

"O yes. Sorry."

"Thank you."

"I can never hold the sleeves in their proper place. Can you manage."

"Yes. Thank you."

"You're not wearing your little silver jumping horse."

"My you've got a vivid memory, Mr. B. You do notice things."

"Yes. I do."

"I'm warned. Must go. Thank you so much for tea. It was awfully good."

"Not at all. So nice having you."

"Well thank you."

"Thank you."

"Goodbye."

"Goodbye."

The door closing as Miss Fitzdare stepped out into the dimly lit hall. She'll go down the stone steps. And if I get to the scullery window. I can look out and watch her go. In her black coat. Under the lamp post. By the slung chains. She turns her head. O Lord. She waves. O heavens. I've got to give her everything in my smile. Caught watching. Perhaps I shouldn't have been. Then she shouldn't have turned. And she did. She likes me. I'm going to lunch. What about that. For joy. O God this is awfully good. On an otherwise doubtful day. Jolly and scrumptious. When least you expect something beautiful happens. She asked me. To lunch. She did. O God on that day. Please don't let me stray. Make me go and catch the tram. Go rolling along the tracks. As goes now the last sight of her. A black spot between the Rubric and all the converging perpendicular slabs of granite. On her silk stock-inged legs. Her hair floating darkly behind. I may never have to be sad again. If we go cantering up over the hills and heather.

Balthazar dressed at seven in a double breasted black pin striped suit. Light blue shirt and black silk tie. To pass now outwards. Across the bumpitibump Front Square. Lanterns lit over the dining hall steps. And one over the big granite doorway. The sky morose and grey. The wind freshening. How will she look after all these years. And why did she come. How does one meet one's mother.

Climbing the steps of this hotel. Through the swing doors. And across the black and white floor. Stand here and look. The little groups. And there. That woman sitting in the corner. Her legs crossed. Large wide hat and can't see her hair. A long black cigarette holder. And next to her a dark man. About my age.

Balthazar crossing the faint brown carpet towards the beige settee. And glass topped table between the chairs. The two figures rising. My mother's hand touches me on the shoulder and her perfumed powder on the cheek.

"Balthazar."

"Hello mother."

"You're tall. And too thin. Otherwise you look as I expected. This is Georgie, Georgie my son Balthazar.' "How do you do.' "I am honoured to meet you Balthazar.' "Please sit down now both of you. What can I get you to drink."

"Sherry."

"Good. What we are having too."

Balthazar crossed his leg and uncrossed it at the sign of a drooping sock. Shaking his head up and down for a momentary yes to all the questions that did not come. Facing these two on the sofa. My mother's shadowy eyes under her shady hat. A slanting wisp of grey hair in the blond stretched gleamingly brushed over a tip top ear. Little webs of wrinkles around her eyes. Just now as she lifts her chin. Light suit of magnolia cavalry twill. Freckles big on her soft delicate hands. Two great gems one red one green on a right and left finger. And a flat slack bracelet of many many diamonds.

"Please will you have one."

A gold case of cigarettes offered to Balthazar. Who smiles a brief nod no. To Georgie sitting back to light the tobacco cylinder held at the distant tips of fingers. He wears a watch chain across his waistcoat. A stiff collar and small knotted polka dot tie. His tailor made his suit a trifle too tight. And his barber takes too much care with his black curly hair.

"How is university Balthazar. Do you like it."

"Yes."

"Are you comfortable."

"Yes. Some conditions are a little primitive. But otherwise quite satisfactory."

"This most curious country. I've never been in such a city as this before. Everyone is mumbling, scowling or smiling. And they say yes certainly in a minute to everything, and it takes an hour. They send you left if the way is right. One is shown to one's rooms and there is already someone there. You say but there is someone in this room and they giggle as if one were crazy. But I suppose you have come to manage here. Are you eating enough.'

"Yes."

White coated waiter lowering three sherry glasses to the table. One looks down at Georgie's rather too pointed shoes.

He smiles too much. He looks for the ashtray. To tap his ash away. He blows the smoke too hard. Holds his hands resting and tired rummaging in my mother's fortune. The telegram came in its brown envelope. During a desperate moment of the afternoon. Fighting to read The Embryology of Rana. And Horace brought it when he brought tea. And saw the blood fall from my face and said ah sir I hope that that was not bad news.

"Balthazar had you liked you could have brought a friend."

"I do not know many people in Dublin to invite."

The silences get longer. The cigarette case of Georgie comes out again. Gleams with a monogram. He tap taps the tobacco down. Tilts his head. Puts it between his lips. The chain bracelet on his wrist shakes. My mother waves away a handful of his smoke.

"Georgie teaches skiing in the winter and swimming in the summer."

"O that's nice."

Georgie with an open handed slow flick of his wrist raising his chin carefully as he shows teeth to speak.

"Ah for me it is a little boring. I like to travel. To go places."

Balthazar's mother pulling a long pin and taking off her hat. She stands to beckon a waiter to take it to her room. And turns her long slender elegance to put one hand touching flesh at her throat.

"Well shall we go in to dinner."

Balthazar's mother led the way across the mirrored lounge and down steps to the long white dining room. Georgie bowing and ushering Balthazar ahead. Dark coated waiters sweeping back and forth. Hard red faced landowners from the country. Seated by slit eyed wives with lemony smiles for waiters and silence for husbands.Georgie before coffee. Got up to bow and said I am sorry I have a headache I would like to go out in the air. Balthazar placed and replaced his spoon and fork. Peche Melba was soon to come. And trolleys wheeled by to flash flame for crepe suzette.