J. Donleavy - The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

Balthazar B stepped across the gravel and up on the grass. Fitzdare gone now behind the trees and hear the hooves pounding as she turns and comes back racing along the lake. Crouching forward her head turned a little aside. Clods of earth thrown in the air. Closer and closer. The sound bigger and bigger coming up under me. As she reins up to the wall. Walk to her across this croquet lawn. And not show any fear. Nor run outright if she comes up close. Feel so utterly wrong now in my plus twos. Just a sham shy of beasts. With the world so fresh and sunny. Eight o'clock on this morn.

Miss Fitzdare her back straight and face asmile. A flowing pink bandana at her neck, black jacket, boots and hunting hat. See Dingle still charging across my room last night leading all the other quadrupeds. Scattering my cuff links. Sending me clutching up the wall. As he moves close upon me now. This seventeen hands of horse. Towering living pedestal for Fitzdare.

"My you're up already."

"Yes."

"Will you come a ride."

"Well really I'd rather just watch you. The splendid speed."

"Dingle's superbly trim. He's in excellent form. Aren't you Dingle, in excellent form. Specially when the going's firm. You big rascal. Say good morning to Balthazar.' "O no, he needn't do that."

"O you mustn't run. Dingle won't hurt you."

"O my God, hold him back Miss Fitzdare."

"O you awful man calling me Miss Fitzdare."

"I'm just a little shy of horses this morning. Elizabeth."

"Please, Lizzie."

"Lizzie."

"I don't really like the name. But at least it's friendly. Isn't that so Dingle. You wouldn't hurt Balthazar down there now would you. No you wouldn't. He lashes out now and again when he gets nerves. You just mustn't get in close behind him. And he only makes believe he bites."

"I see."

"Let's saddle you up a horse. Have you had breakfast."

"Not yet."

"Come on then. I have a good old hunter. We'll both have roaring appetites.' "I'm not really a riding man. Perhaps I should sit this one out. Here on the wall.' "Daisy's so mild she'll pick you up when you fall off."

"Well that would be awfully nice. Of Daisy. But."

"Yes come on. I'll take you up on the hills and then we'll have a marvellous breakfast."

Balthazar B walked back across the lawns by the gleaming windows of the house. In there we dined last night. Right in that noble room. Fitzdare's father poured out the port. All dark and splendid. Flowing down the crystal. An eternal sweetness buried deep in the somber ruby red. Under the antlers high up round the walls in the billiard room. Miss Fitzdare gave out with her purring laughter. As I tried so desperately to carom the balls. Giving great attention to chalking my cue. Meaning watch out for my next shot chaps. Send these spheres of elephant tusks dancing a rumba along the cushions. With full masse. But at last to be left deliberating lengthily. Lip pursing and the lot. And all to no avail. As both Fitzdares were gracious and each of unnerving calibre. Reach then for my glass and triumph at quaffing port.

A grey haired ancient groom helped Balthazar B into the saddle. Leading him by the bridle past the stable door. Ah you're right now sir, ready for the St. Leger. With droopy walk and two hanging heads, horse and man crossed out from the courtyard and clip clopped down the farm road and left through an opening into the fields. Fitzdare waiting there. Laughing gay encouragement and greeting. To lead them along a cypress avenue and steeply up a rocky path from these bottom fields climbing to the table land. This great wide animal beneath me. Female. A wafting breeze could bring a signal to a male. O my Lord, Dingle may try and jump her. Bite my ass right out of the saddle. Like last night. I wouldn't stand a chance.

Fitzdare racing ahead into the morning sunlight. Soft summer breeze blowing across the hills. And up at last now to see the great arching strides of Dingle stretching over the hard packed grass. Rising up like a great invincible ghost over walls without a change of stride. As I dismounted to go through the gates. Pulling and tugging to get back up on Daisy again. Until she leaned suddenly down to gobble up some succulent herb and I slid forward and spun clinging round her neck to land spreadeagled on the moist ground.

The curlews whistling and kestrels hovering against the wind. As I came walking back. To sit with her at the open breakfast room windows, a bow front jutting out in the rays of sun. A great painting along the wall "Coming Together Of The Meet By The Shores Of The Lough.' Spotted leaping hounds and red coated gentlemen on long bodied horses. The sideboard of hot plates and silverware. Sausages, tomatoes, bacon and butters. Hen's eggs and gull's eggs, syrups and creams. Toast and urns of steaming tea and coffee. With most memorable and delectable of all. Gooseberry jam.

"I thought you did awfully well, I really did. A lot of people are shy of horses. I shouldn't have been mean and made you ride."

"Going up the hill was fine. But I got used to leaning forward so that when she leaned forward to eat the grass it turned awkward."

And we went off through the mornings and wandered along the lake. Strolling past a field of mares and foals. Another of milk cows. She was so good to me. Not to ask that I should ride again. We watched a blackbird wiping its orange beak on a green bronzed apple branch. All these avian creatures looking so proud sitting in the trees. And I said that really and most honestly I would tell the truth that I was a picnic man. To proceed so bravely now. With this wicker basket of picnic things. Build Fitzdare a fire. Pass her chunks of cucumber or biscuits sweet with chocolate specks. I could be a cave man too if only a cave could be found somewhere nice.

"Balthazar."

"What."

"OI just wanted to say your name."

"O."

"I like it. And also just today you know Fm so happy that you're here. Took all my courage to ask you to come. I wanted you to meet my father. He's nice isn't he."

"Yes. He's very nice."

"A lonely man. I don't think he's ever got over losing my mother. And it's so many years ago. I had a little brother too. He was drowned with his nannie in a boat out on the lough. Just a few yards from shore. Daddy has his two spinster sisters who come to visit. They spend nearly all their time weaving and making jam. The gooseberry you like. My skirt's their cloth. Daddy should have married again. I sometimes wish he did. At twelve one still needs a mother. Some nice woman. He has friends who come to shoot. But he's lost interest now. I suppose that this, this whole place will have to go. The ruined castle there on the little island. The land reeks with history. I often think what sorrows passed here. Long before one's own."

Gulls wheeling by under the greying heavens. And the far away moaning of a cow. The distant web of stone walls making little fields on the hill sides dotted with specks of sheep. The mountaintops purple. And east the sky a rusty tint. As Balthazar B stood, a hogskin gloved hand holding tightly the picnic basket and turning to see two blue eyes made bluer by the sky. The splendid laughing voice.

"O gosh come on, I'll race you to that dead tree."

Miss Fitzdare ran. In her strange and horsey way. Feet flying out to her sides. The thick green tweed she wore with all the tiny little bits of colour. The long coat belted round the middle with its big square pleated pockets. A golden scarf at her throat and her hair flying free. We stopped by a little stretch of sand by the lough shore. And I went finding stones and built a fireplace while Fitzdare gathered sticks and brush. I said watch it will only take me one match. And it took eighteen. To start the flames. She lay along her side in the thick clumps of grass contemplating me. As I enacted so urgently one little catastrophe after another. Till finally I managed a stone slab bridged over the flames and put the sausages roasting there. She smiled and was pleased.