J. Donleavy - The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

"There you are, this is Balthazar. He is from France, boys. Welcome him. No nonsense now. Beefy is another Balthazar but we call him Beefy, don't we Beefy. And you Duffer when you stop picking your nose you show Balthazar here the way about. What is the ablative of fossa."

"Fossa sir."

"Good chap."

The door closed. The little

The door closed. The little group grinning again. Duffer feeling the fabric of Balthazar's overcoat. A small dark boy of glittering eyes stepped close to touch Tillie's pink trunk and Balthazar twitched his shoulder away.

"New boy."

Balthazar looking round at the hard faces and stepping back and squeezing close Tillie.

"New boy give us this elephant. We don't have toys here.

New boy. You must give us this elephant."

"No."

"New boy give us this elephant."

"No."

The little circle tightened about Balthazar. Of narrow eyed boys. Pudgy hands reaching and pulling at Tillie tightly clutched in the crook of his arm.

"Give us this elephant new boy if you know what's good for you."

Balthazar clenching his jaw. A thump thump thump in his breast. Laurel leaves touching the squares of window pane beyond the teeth showing faces. A grimy hand tugging at Tillie's trunk. Other fingers prising open the crook of his elbow. The figures closed in. Breathing up against his eyes.

Balthazar shaking himself back and forth from the grasping hands and turning towards the door for escape where another grinning monster stood with big lips open.

"You can't get out of here new boy."

Balthazar raised a little fist and struck out in front of him. The faces closed in again. A hand pushed hard at his chest. He went backwards over a boy crouching behind his knees. Tillie pulled from his hands as he fell. His head banged the floor and stars danced across a sudden blackness. His eyes opened and above him Tillie's grey stuffing dropped down as it was stretched and torn to pieces between the laughing hands.

Balthazar rose shouting and flailing his arms. The door handle turning. A sudden scuffling commotion. Then silence. A row of little boys seated gently at their desks, perusing Latin and Greek grammars, faces contorted in thought. All the studious eyebrows raised towards the opening door.

"What's this nonsense going on in here. What's the dreadful meaning of this."

Balthazar was led away. Down the long dark corridor. His chest trembling with his breath. Through a swing door into a large room with panelled walls and ceiling. A great crystal chandelier on a chain. A woman in a white apron brought a cup of brown tea. And slice of buttered toast. He sat alone among the dining tables. Out the window a terrace. Faint shouts and smack of a stick against a ball. A hill sweeping steeply down to the tops of trees. The sky was grey and purple and flashed with light and there came a distant rumble of a thundery world.

Balthazar taken from the dining room by the white aproned woman. Down the hall and up two flights of stairs. To sit in a big leather chair in the housemaster's study. The thin tall man in a dark checked coat and grey flannel trousers. A bright yellow tweed tie. And his polished boots cracked and scarred. The desk lamp spreading out its dim light as long thin fingers turned over papers. The wind brushing a fir branch against the window glassy and black.

"I am your housemaster. Who pushed you down."

"I do not know."

"The elements of leadership sometimes are found in a little scuffling. We mold little leaders here. Did you get a cup of tea."

"Yes."

"Did you enjoy your little tea."

"It was quite reasonable."

"You speak English well. Who taught you,"

"My nannie."

"Good show. You look a dear little chap."

"Do not speak to me like that."

"I beg your pardon."

"I do not want to be called a dear little chap. I am a small human being."

"I see. Well perhaps it's time we took you to your dormitory. Our small human being will be playing golf tomorrow.

Do you read your bible."

"No."

"Well we are keen on scripture here. And you must address me as sir. We are not unkind but we stand for no nonsense.

Play the game. Play it well. Play it fairly. And avoid smutty talk and companions."

"I do not understand the word smutty."

"Pity. Smutty. You will recognise it when it comes. And know we shan't stand for it."

"What is smutty."

"You mean what is smutty, sir."

"What is smutty, sir."

"That's better. Smutty. Hmmmm. A smear upon the spirit.

Concerning things between the legs. There shall be no groping there, you can be sure of that. We shall have no Frenchiness either. When smuttiness comes smite it."

"What is smite."

"Smite, smote, smitten. To strike powerfully. And here we smite smut. Let there be no question about that. Our little golfers knock it for a loop. You are a clever little chap, I can see that. But we don't want cleverness to become slipperiness."

"I do not understand you."

"Quite simple, we run a school here to mold leaders. Boys here are of the very best families. Little princes and lords with few exceptions." "I am not a prince or lord.' "We make allowances for that. Commoners are given every opportunity.'

"I want my elephant back."

"You mean sir."

"Sir."

"We don't have toys here you know. Boys grow up here.

And we will stamp out this groping between other boys' legs.

We'll have done with that. Gung ho. That's the cry. You French tend to run under heavy mortaring. You lack gung ho."

"How dare you say that"

"What. Come come. You must learn to take criticism on the chin. Quite understandably you want to put up a little show for your countrymen. Mustn't blind yourself however. Must not do that. From this school you will bring gung ho back to France. Carry that thought with you during your years here. Up you get now. Matron's waiting in the hall. Your number is fifty seven. Always answer with your name and number. You'll get used to it here."

The matron, towels over her arm, led Balthazar along the hall, down a stair and into a high ceilinged long room. A wide shiny aisle of floorboards dividing two rows of beds standing against the grey walls. Matron stopped near one of the tall windows framing the edge of tree tops against a clearing sky. A pinkish mist of white swirling clouds over the countryside. Boys reading, polishing shoes, and tidying lockers. They focused eyes up at the ceiling or down into their laps.

"Here we are now. You'll soon muck in."

The matron in her grey tweed skirt and sweater, vast bosoms bumping Balthazar on the shoulder, patted him gently on the head. She smiled around her, nodding east and west. And disappeared out the door where a strange red light glowed from the great window of the staircase.

Balthazar reached to touch his crocodile grooming case on the blue blanket. A toothbrush and toothpaste laid upon a towel, and neatly folded across his pillow, his golden silk pyjamas. Standing now tears all dried, a taste of salt at the corner of the lips, legs atremble and cold. His lungs shuddering faintly as he caught in mouthfuls of air.

Not to look up ere some crushing horror descend at the back of one's ears. Nor move too soon ere a large monster snort new fire. But now to turn gently and up from brave but shy eyes to see. On the next bed sitting a plump little boy. His carrot haired head bent over as he sewed carefully with needle and thread. He looked up and smiled. His eyes were brown and his cheeks big and red. And in his hands, all nearly joined back together again, was Tillie.

Hello

Now

To any

Wondrous

Little men.

Each fortnight Beefy's granny sent Swiss chocolate. And little blocks were pushed across to Balthazar in the dark. Lights out and Crunch the housemaster patrolled the dim corridors. At full moon he walked a rapid tight circle at the distant end of the hall, nervously entwining his hands and mumbling.