J. Donleavy - The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

"O do not hurt the little boy, do not hurt him please."

The kicks rained upon Pierre's leather gaitered shins. And he swept Balthazar up and laid him into the arms of nannie. Her tear streaked face as she sat nodding out the car door. A civil goodbye to Uncle Edouard who stood solemnly holding up a motionless hand. The motor pulled out the gates and turning right, crossed over Avenue Kleber to speed towards the Arc de Triomphe. When suddenly nannie put her hand to her lips and called through the little fanlight to Pierre to please go back down to the white house off Avenue Foch again.

Nannie's dark blue cape flew out from her as she ran through the gate and went tripping up the steps. Beyond the glass within the shadows of the house, Balthazar saw her handed a white envelope. Figures following as she stopped a moment under the ivy entwined glass canopy that shielded the grey steps from the pouring rain. Nannie rushed to the open car door and waved back to the figures emerging on the porch. With a great sigh she tucked the envelope in her bag. Pierre leans forward to release the brake and says to Dunkirk.

With a honk of the squawking horn, the big black car, streaming rain, rolled away from the shuttered house in the little square. Under the canopy cook waved and maid waved and Balthazar in the car's back window stuck out his tongue. Slowly the women on the porch dropped their hands to suddenly raise them again. As Spot the little brown eyed dog came dashing between their skirts and down the steps after the car. Which went faster and faster. And Balthazar screamed stop stop.

Through puddles across grass verges along the Bois to Porte Maillot. The wet little brown and black creature watching up at the back car window as its small legs churned away on the grey cobbles. All along the Boulevard heading north. Pedestrians stopping to turn and look from under their umbrellas. And Balthazar said o nannie nannie please wait for him, please.

At a grey deserted cross road, the tired little dog came to a stop. He stood there looking left and right and growing smaller and smaller. To leave a bleak empty space behind on the road. Through the flickering of Balthazar's tears all the way to Chantilly and across the river Oise.

And this next morning out on the Channel a smell of fumes of oil and breath and vomit. As Balthazar led nannie out along the ship's rail and they stood against the bulkhead lashed by sheets of wind and mists of spray from a grey wild sea. A gentleman stood a little away and smiled at nannie.

"Why does that gentleman look at you like that and smile nannie.' "It is what gentlemen do."

"He is looking at your skirt where you have your big mend.' "Yes."

"Why."

"Because he thinks that perhaps I would make a good wife who can cook and sew."

The deck heaving in the long curving foaming swells speeding on the sea. Nannie held a hand to her mouth as she vomited. Balthazar gave her his hanky and put an arm close around her. Pierre in his dark suiting and gleaming leather gaiters was drinking brandy two decks below in the first class bar.

In the grey dark tumbling heavens ahead were explosions of light flashing up from the horizon. The sound of crashing chairs and pots and broken glass as the little ship pitched and crashed into the rising walls of water. Nannie gave out with anguished gasps through the brown and green liquids spewing from her mouth.

A steward came and helped take nannie back to the cabin where she lay eyes closed on the bunk. At a little lamp Balthazar read the newspaper, his stockinged legs crossed jigging his black gleaming silver buckled shoe. He rang for a lemon flavoured mineral water and a thin piece of ham between slices of white bread. Brought by the gentle white jacketed steward. Who smiled kindly and bowed and said he would be delighted to be of further help if anything was needed for madam. And Balthazar smiled and said he called you madam nannie.

Balthazar clutching the broad wood railing on deck. Ahead the white cliffs and sea gulls soaring in the grey sky. Dark castle walls on the hill. Two little lighthouses atop the ends of the great concrete breakwaters. Fishermen in yellow and black oil skins waved and pointed at the tossing packet boat and crouched as a wall of sea crashed. Ships' bells cutting speed. And in the strange silence the little vessel heaved between the lights and across into the sheltered waters.

The safe harbour full of fishing boats and bereft coasters. Under hovering bleak cranes, lines were cast to shore. Dark sheds and railway sidings. The grey slate roofs of the red bricked buildings on the hillside. All chill wet and grim and England.

Pierre signing yellow sheets of paper for a grey uniformed man. Black dressed and capped customs with gold circles around their sleeves. The strange tall hats on the ruddy faced smiling policemen. Nannie no longer green but white and wan as Balthazar helped her unsteadily down the bumpy gangway.

Another grey uniformed man bowed them welcome into the big black car. To bump across the dockyard and between two tall great green wooden gates. Through the town with bricked in flower gardens in front of the houses all called Sunnyside. And suddenly out to the gently rolling green hills and hedgerowed fields. Why is England so small nannie and all the trees in the fields with the cows.

Nannie read out directions to Pierre from a book. Stopping to see signposts through little villages neat silent and green. Up over hills and under canopies of trees. To take tea at an inn. Hot scones and strawberry jam. Pierre across the hall nodding about to cloth capped men in tweed jackets with little knots of scarfs tied at their throats. They stood in the smoke close under twisted ancient beams and swirled tall jars of drink.

"Nannie they look like they drink wee wee."

"That's a very naughty thing to say."

At this great entrance with lions and shields high up, a drive went winding between thick green shrubberies. On and on turning and twisting until they came into a clearing. A great grey massive building. A group of boys their white knees and short trousers. Led hangdog along the road. And who turned and looked at him as the big car passed. To stop beside a tall brown door at the top of three granite steps.

"I don't want to stay here, nannie. I don't like it."

"You will like it. Look see, other little boys there. Nice little English boys."

Inside the lost gloomy greyness a group of heads crowded at the window looking out. Grins on the front row faces. Pierre's feet crunching on the gravel, unloading trunk and tuck box. Nannie pressing the big brass button. A grey haired woman opening the door. Balthazar shrinking in the car. Nannie returning down the wide grey steps, her face and eyes white and tearful.

"Come Balthazar."

"No."

"You must. You must for me."

Balthazar came from the car. His black little overcoat wrapped tightly round him. Blue Tillie clutched to his breast. A bell tolling time in a spire above the roof. Pierre carrying his trunk and box into the shadowy hallway. And Balthazar following nannie to the click of heels down the long panelled hall as a tall thin man approached. Smiled. Offered down a hand to Balthazar. And nannie suddenly turned and bent to touch her lips on the silken blond hair. And then she and Pierre were gone. The sound of the car starting and fading away in this lonely ungentle world.

"Come Balthazar, meet some of your dormitory mates. That's a good chap, this way."

In an oaken door. A large room of high windows, tables, chairs and benches. The wood gouged with initials and names. The walls kicked and scarred. A banana peel on the window sill and a plate of carrots on the floor. And a little group, the grinners at the window. Who approached unsmiling and sidled round like grazing cattle. One hand was put forward in greeting.