J. Donleavy - The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

Beefy's sun reddened hand reaching to lightly touch his cravat. And a finger flicks away a morsel of hardened mud from his knee. As mothers, aunts and nannies march by, irregularities of figure neatly corsetted under their tweed. Children in tow. On their way to measure for the school uniform.

"Balthazar, you do tolerate me so much. Why."

"Your charm."

"For that I shall send you by foot messenger six gull's eggs. Imagine though how God answered my prayer. Nearly within the hour. I even thought I might have caught a glimpse of him as the light bulb overhead exploded. I knelt with the backside out of my underwear and untold guilts from nursery days blushing on my face. Fm on my way. My rich mare lassoed. And till I get to the altar, I smash back my emulsion of poppy juice to keep my spirits up. I really know now that one's redeemer damn sure liveth."

"Beefy. I don't want to trouble you or be presumptuous. But I do think that you need a little help. And Fd like very much if you would accept from me an early wedding present."

"Balthazar, my goodness, you are a brick. You really are. What an awfully nice thing of you to say. Were I a heretic denying the transubstantiation and you minded, I must say Fd mend my ways forthwith. And my Lord I haven't really asked you how you are. How are you.' "Fm fine. Very fine. I had one or two low moments in Paris perhaps. But at the same time I rather caught up on some aspects of zoology I had missed."

"God suddenly the world at this moment seems so good. I mean one couldn't help wondering what was going to happen to us. To our caste. Me wheeling a wheelbarrow on a building site. Marvellous thing is, amazing how many places one can go, a wheelbarrow in front of you, shouting out gangway. Fm planning to use it to enter the Enclosure at Ascot with champagne buried in my little load of ice cold sand."

"Would you excuse me Beefy. Just for a few moments."

Balthazar passed to the end of the waiting hall. Between the elevators. And down the steps into the vaults. Pressing the black little button. A buzzer ringing along a corridor and footsteps approaching. Dark uniformed man lifting up his rings of keys to unlock and swing open this iron barred entrance.

"Good day, sir."

"Good day."

Heels clicking over the tiles along this passage and turning right into a mirrored room, a fan whirring quietly. The tinkle of keys and clank of a safe door. Great steel box lugged forth. Placed on a high table shelf behind the frosted glass door of a panelled booth. Turn the key, lift up the lid. Reach into the loneliness. To choose a stack of white storage crisp five pound notes. From the other stacks of French, Swiss, Dutch and Danish. Uncle Edouard always said keep a balance of currencies dear boy to cushion your horror if they all devalue at once.

And climbing back the carpeted marble stairs. Left between the phalanx of lift doors. Step aside politely for a high heeled toy poodle carrying perfumed customer. Beefy, my goodness, engaged in eager conversation with the dowager. He must practice on all old ladies. In the hope of handling granny. He lights up one's whole lonely life. With his fighting flaming flesh and bone. Now my God she's handing him her card. Enmeshed in his magic. And once he said at a distance people look different but when you talk to them they all become the same.

"Beefy. Here."

"Balthazar. I don't really feel I ought to take this."

"You must. Because it's my wedding present."

"You are a brick you know. But if the wedding should never take place."

A silence. And their both eyes look down. Upon the packed sheets of money. The dowager clears her throat. A waddling American goes by through the cocktail murmur of voices on this splendidly tremulous afternoon.

"Thank you unforgettably Balthazar. With the world gone dotty with greed you alone stand uncorrupted."

Beefy with a gentle gesture touched Balthazar. And put the wad of notes with all their curlicued embellishments in under his tweed. Giving them a reassuring little pat. He turned to his dowager friend and smiled. She smiled. One can weep with joy. To be at home again in London. Beefy's eyes as they always look for something in the middle distance. Never too close nor too far. He will hit yet the world a stunning blow. Crumple it in the mid section. And bring it back to life again with a dram of his poppy juice.

"Balthazar may I introduce you. Lady Bicuspid. I've just been telling her about great grand uncle. Who contracted fever tracing the source of the Nile. He was the first to find the source of the Shannon for the Irish. It foxed the Erse for years. Poor devils. They were delighted when great grand uncle with a sample given him by my great grand father identified the water as being from a particular lake in China, called Shah Nun. For millennia it had leaked right through the earth. To trickle out in Ireland. That's how Shannon came to be its name. They gave uncle an immortal potato. The very original one they kept buried in a box at Tara. From which came all the others. Poor uncle. After his success in Ireland he thought he'd solve the Nile. Got knighted for his religious work among the savages. Who later, God rest his soul, knighted him with a spear where one does not want such a thing. They offered him up as a sacrifice in honour of the God uncle had revealed to them. They ate him. Without salt. It was awful. And dear lady. It appalls me still. The utter lack of gratitude and charity. Must rush now, but so pleasant meeting you like this."

"So interesting. I've enjoyed every moment so much, thank you. Young people don't talk to their seniors these days."

"Yes. I know. Not nice. But please God may we have this happenstance again. Been much rewarding to see the wealth of colour sparkling in eyes such as yours. An autumn splendour which only comes with the riper years."

"You are a dear boy."

"Goodbye, madam."

"Goodbye."

Beefy led Balthazar to the cigar department. There to purchase several packets to bulge out his pockets. On this lucid afternoon. He said he was going to distribute them to his mates on the building site. Where he would finish out the week. But alas he would still have to stay employed. Gainfully and continually or else forfeit the last remaining hope of granny's distant riches.

They parted with a wave at the entrance to the sweet department. Balthazar B went past the cheese and candles, by petunias and into the health juice bar. There amid a sudden throng of busty twice married heiresses he quaffed a mixture of blackberry juice and milk. And up through the various departments. To order furniture, enough for one. To sit and sleep upon.

The day of delivery in the door of 78 Crescent Curve. The men in pleasant green coats came. Set up the bed, table, sofa, chair, lamp and rug in the dining room. They thought me rather a little strange but I said it saves running around the house. I climbed up the stairs and stood there on the landing. Looking out back and into a small garden opposite. And saw lying back carelessly in a chair. A nearly naked girl. A towel just over her lap. Moving her head back and forth in the sunshine. A gleam on her small sharp pointed breasts. I was enchanted and somewhat saucily steamed. How gay and carefree and goodness, how London has changed. An older lady, looks her mother, comes out. Polishes her all over with an embrocation. As she now leans forward. Her pair seem to gain much in size. One wonders what other windows are alive with binoculars or unassisted eyes. Good Lord they look up. I step back. And wait. To peek again. From the landing next floor up. Ah the scene remains unchanged. I could run around and present my card. Placed neatly sticking up. I beg your pardon.

Out of

Beefy's

Wheelbarrow

Of ice cold

Sand.