J. Donleavy - The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

"I do wish Beefy I could say something to cheer you."

"Make me your factor when you and Fitzdare are possessed of your delightfully situated period residence of great character and charm, sheltered from the north, approached by a long drive in a completely secluded setting, yet incorporating every modern amenity, crawling distance from a good hunt, stabling for forty and other useful outbuildings, deer park, o God to think I have come down into penury with piles. Me the purest voiced of all. Sorry to behave like this. But I have my little seizures of self pity. Invariably disappear in a few months. But you know when one talks with one's inner spirit, it's always up to giving rumblings of a sexual or financial nature. Disheartening for the goodishness I think I still retain. In my thumb tips and toes. I'll find some little detour around this nightmare. But for the moment I feel like a freelance archbishop to a group of Siberian atheists who are manufacturing religious artifacts with a word of mouth option for distribution inside the arctic circle. Destined as I may now be to do deeds foreign to my character. Unless I marry rich. And soon."

"I'm sure Beefy things will turn out quite properly for you."

"Civil of you to suggest. Really is. I suppose in London one shall spread it about that one is of the Dublin Social Register. One can hear it said already, is that agricultural dear boy, so nice to meet Irish who are not servants. The noiseless gouging will be on. Foreskins drawn back, knives out. Mommies will be delving into my pedigree like thieves into a Knightsbridge back garden. Looking for a sign of shipping lines. Or land grants in Oxfordshire. And to find I am dispossessed. Then they will be rude to me. Not nice. Where's the humanity. I am almost a disgracefully humble person. One's name unaccountably keeps looking smaller in Debrett. How does one explain the shifty eyed look of one's forebears. Direct descent from horse thieves from the days of cudgels and kicks up the arse. Century upon century of the most mischievous thievery youVe ever heard. And when they weren't thieving people's horses they were thieving people's saucepans, codpieces, loose ecclesiastic attachments and turnips. God I have a volcanic erection. Would you believe it. Keep in line folks. Don't crowd around. It will stand up indefinitely. Eighty fourth wonder of the world. This way now. Folks. There it is. You'll get your chance. Don't shove. Yes, half crown a look, five bob to touch. O God Balthazar, there are knotty times ahead. And I must move to make preparations for the battle to be joined. I shall fight them up St. James as they come seething down, in and out Jermyn Street, along Piccadilly. I shall wage the struggle. Barricade myself in an attic room of the club till my dues are due. I have a porter, old chap who lays on a few lashes. I like to take a bit of the whipping now and again. But the doddering gent's arm isn't what it used to be. I'm driven from Ireland where the strange mysteries of the primitive lusts so easily flower. Many hybrid departures in sauciness. Just as there is too much cross breeding in roses these days. I mean my God where are the petals of strongly scented crimson sublime with the darkness of blood and wine. They're gone Balthazar, I tell you, gone. People like your folk in the back gardens of Donnybrook have done it. Rosy pink 01 pinkish roses mean nothing any more. The history of that elegant flower is full of people crowding to nail their names on the beautiful handiwork of God. Dear me. I am tight. Couldn't care less about roses in my sober moments but then I am mostly given to my doggish proclivities of pleasurings. Strange how in the morning and into early afternoon one prefers ladies of fulsome legs but as evening approaches I rather fancy space between the thighs. Granny o granny you have made little Beefy a sad chap. And he took a shivering ice cold bath this morning to stiffen up the character for the hard days ahead. And dislodge the little fats here on the belly. For the climb into early middle age. The sun set upon youth."

"But Beefy you've got a long way to go."

"Not if the Lord does not preserve one from lingering disorders. And deliver to his obedient servant a true, sure aid to regularity. Disinheritance has messed up my bowels. Feels like a bishop's mace been stirring there. Could I prevail upon your most cordial hospitality Balthazar and have another bottle of champagne. I'll pay. But I would like to have it here in this peace with you."

"Not at all, Beefy. We'll both have some. You'd be most welcome to stay in my little house in London."

"That's very good of you Balthazar. Very. But I must refuse. No time to cushion the spirit I feel. Time to fight. Always been my strong point. To answer the call, take up the cudgel and wade into the enemy, laying about me with much what for. My trustees of course think it's very funny. As they steam away in their suitable motors to Suningdale. You know Balthazar I'm beginning to detest people who go away on the weekend. And leave me behind. I suppose I would give anything to have a rose named after me. Years now of entertaining a vision of riding that fat ecclesiastical train into rural old age and face instead slanders of having attempted to shoulder aside the elderly. It's the rich Balthazar what gets the antiques and it's the poor what gets the tremors. Facing penury upsets my whole system. Takes so much steady emolument to traverse one's daily life unhindered. Able to say at the drop of a vowel I'll thank you not to fuck about with me you low cur. But you know Balthazar, unless one has a majesty about one's apartments, people will walk all over you, put ash on the carpet, kick the olive pips under the tallboys. As one stands there desperately besmirched. Trying that awkward laugh through the teeth. Giving the demeanour, o you chaps don't put me off my stride at all. As you face all the flashing out of smoking appurtenances, the cigarette lighters, the cases in beaten gold and silver. The English have no mercy. Out of their fat packed diaries they pick another appointment and leave you utterly alone."

"Beefy you mustn't get so upset."

"I know. But the deep dreadful fear of earning one's daily bread assailed me this afternoon. Could throw myself at the mercy of the theatrical world. Think of that. I can't act a damn. But it would be an excuse to go on living. While suffering my piles. I suppose the audience would notice wouldn't they, my hand held constantly to my arse. O dear, that won't do either. Had I taken holy orders dear boy, I was to have shooting rights on forty thousand acres. Two disused lead mines. A shipyard, two mills and three distilleries. The loss of the latter has hurt me most. But it's unforgivable of me to tumble these complaints upon your good natured head, Bal-thazar. And I owe you the very deepest apologies. Having got you sent down with me."

"You mustn't mind. But can't you appeal to your grandmother to reconsider."

"Alas my God Balthazar, what I did was. To threaten to sue my granny. I thought it would put wind up her enough to gently expire her last spark. It was heinous and ill advised. I mean one can shove a legal point up some cad's arse upon which he will chew for the rest of his life. However to threaten writs upon one's old granny I suppose is unforgivable. But she could simply leave the bullion to a cats' home. For unpleasant cats. In any case she just laughed and slammed down the phone. I'd been begging Smithers to put her on for half an hour. There used to be the day when light fingered hair surgeons danced about me in a fevered lather of attendance. To keep me beautiful for tea time. I was such a nice little boy of big cheeked arse and face. Had enormous curls in childhood. I did. Now all and everybody is going to go piggish."

"I won't Beefy."

"I know you won't Balthazar. And I won't go piggish just to suit other swine. Justice is decaying about me. I think my heart is liable to failure in pulsation. I rogered Rebecca last night glissando and then grosso molto. Poor girl couldn't really care. Said Breda just upped and disappeared I hear. And I go with vowels to cut a swath through London. Take the first hedge in the steeple chase. And be damned the mumpish miseries.' Another bottle of champagne. Comes through the door. With smiles and the hospitable genuflections. And the empty taken away. To see this man here before one. So sad. In need of solace. Of rich round friendly cheeks. When I was a small thin white complexioned boy. Frightened and feared of a new world. And first saw his small carefully sewing hands beneath his sunny face. On the blackest horizon of my life. "Balthazar it's been heartening to spend this moment with you here. In the peace of these surrounds. But I must take my leave and go. Rebecca waits for me on Butt Bridge. Dear girl. I sneak her as my mother into my hotel. She is full of fight you know. Wants to come with me to London. When I take out my instrument she seizes it with a wild peal of laughter. Very unirish of her. But marvellously charming. Granny taught me at table not to ask for a second service of soup. She was always fond of saying haste was vulgar. Don't leave a door open you find closed or close a door you find open. And above all she said don't trouble people with your mishaps. As I've ignobly done tonight. Wish me well. I now go forth in search of a young lady whose endless pence can slide me over these bumpy times. Shall we meet in London. Seven weeks exactly from today. Waiting hall of Harrods. Are you on. Three o'clock. The course should be clear then, free of unpleasantries. Must go. Drain this last of wine. Blessed are the randy makers for they shall themselves be even more so. My hotel serves only tomato and oxtail soup. For breakfast lunch and dinner. Each time I ask for soap they say the girls will see to the soap. And my God I'm exhausted seeing to the girls. I must go."