J. Donleavy - The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

Balthazar B covering privates with the shoulder bulge of the coat hanger as there was a slight engorgement there. In the heat of this utterly unbelievable encounter. When one would prefer to be popping fresh strawberries down one's throat, right out of season. But one thing to do. Before these people try to fill me up with sawdust to make me look nice. Is to set the record right and send these folk scattering.

"Millicent would you please phone for the police. To come and have these intruders shown the door."

"Yes I will."

Alarm over the Major's face. He reached for his breast pocket spotted red hanky. And wiped away the moisture on his thin upper lip. Which he licks now. The nameless second lady quite at home feeling, as she passes, the satin of Milli-cent's counterpane. Mr. White Wang staring down at his shoes and up at the ceiling as the little group slowly moves backwards towards Millicent's open bedroom door. Balthazar B advancing. Nakedly.

"I wish sir that you would not keep advancing in that con dition. Quite clearly there's been a misunderstanding but my wife's heart is not good."

"It appears to have had sufficient pumping adequacy to get her up here. And one would certainly hope to get her out. Go away please.' ''We are going. Please let us. Without coming too close, there's quite a lot of light out here on the staircase. Marjorie please turn your head away. Look front. Please, for my sake."

Balthazar standing at the stair head watching the little group pass out and close the door. From the small reading room window one looks down. There gathered on the pavement. The vigilantes. Watched by the Colonel across the street in the window with his binoculars totally emerged from the plant leaves. One might now be advised to hang out a sign high over the front door. To those of you who do not recognise the groans of lust which one hopes will continue to come out of this house. To say to you, do not breach the privacy dear chaps, if you please. And when next you hear a scream. Look up at the night.

The new

Moon yawns

To take

A bite

Of

The sky.

The little fellow was born three days after nurse came to Crescent Curve with her hat of white daisies with big white petals on the back top of her head. She wore blue frequently and when out of uniform a grey sweater with two rows of amber beads. She smoked inhaling the air deeply and threw her head back shooting the smoke upwards at an angle from the horizontal.

A fortnight later nannie came. And nurse was slow to leave. In the long still tight lipped silences at table. No one having a second helping except of wine. Millicent wrapped up high with frills all over her bed. Delivered trays of delicacies by the fragile and hard of hearing Boats with his white hair flowing behind his ears. He had made his way from his tiny sea front cottage in Dorset. Travelling for three days, getting lost on stations, taking trains back to where he came from instead of where he was going. As I shouted directions to him down the long distance phone. Lodged safely now up top in the back room. With all his neat equipments laid ready about.

There were tremors of lighted warmth over the house. Between the black looks nurse gave nannie and nannie gave nurse. Neither ever passing the salt to the other and pushing butter and bread further away. Millicent muchly reclined in the middle of her bed having hair and fingernails done. The little fellow nuzzling in at the breasts. One nipple just a little larger than the other. The left one as a matter of fact. Mil-licent's right eye is a little larger than the left. Nature quite fussy in balancing things. Beefy came to visit. We had a private little talk in the library.

"Dear boy, I don't know what the Violet Infanta's advisors and principals want. Fve told them granny will go to her maker any day and I will be immortally rich. They say they are advised from confidential sources my granny will go on living for years and years, the reports say she has the heart of a twelve year old girl. It is all simply too too sad. The Infanta when I roger her says she's got to wank. Asked me if I minded her tickling herself off in that manner. I said don't be a miserable so and so, of course I don't mind. Of course you may wank if it gives an extra pleasure. Full steam to orgasm. Sometimes the Infanta wears an expression of staggeringly splendid stupidity on her face, utterly endearing. I'm frightened I may be becoming more fond of her than her money. She has an awfully beautiful back. Ah my God Balthazar, you're a father. I'm not even a husband yet. And from last week no longer an elevator operator. Too awful. I am about to reveal my address to the world as the Savoy Steps, a nice crooked little street behind the Monarch's church where there's no doorway to deliver an envelope to."

Beefy with his strangely delicate fingers playing with the stem of his glass. Boats entering, lifting up another bottle laid down in the ice. His hands shaking as he undid the wire over the cork. Which hit him on the forehead and nearly knocked him out. We sat there stilled by Boats' lofty elegance as he silently withdrew. And I asked Beefy, who has so often sailed through my life, yawing and heaving, cutting through the waves under a brisk following breeze, how had he lost command of his lift.

"It happened most unexpectedly. I'd been taking chaps up to the top floor throughout the afternoon. Had this Chinese coin with a hole in it in the palm of my hand. If I had a chap with me travelling alone, I'd mumble an aside that this was the tip the last passenger gave me. Worked marvellously time and again in producing a couple of bob. Anyway, I'm as usual conducting a most well run lift. Giving smart salutes to those passengers deserving it. And slipping out a morsel of a fart at others meeting with my displeasure, mostly of the untutored talkative variety addressing me without invitation. This is marvellously good champagne Balthazar. So good to see you sitting there. Happy in your own little buzzing home. Nice. But me alas. I sped my elevator to the top floor. To take down some of the day's last passengers. There they were, an even dozen gents. Although all short, all extremely wide. They were pushing, all wanting down at once. Well I mean to say, one has had authority over a company of men in the field. I said gentlemen, the capacity of this machine is seven, the first seven please only. The entire twelve instantly crushed forward. I announced over the heads that we would plummet to the bottom of the lift shaft and if one gentleman would step back he could laugh himself sick at the sight. Well it was quite clear that they were not about to let one of their number get to the bottom first. A most horrid group. Fuck-pigs of multiplicities, distinguished as they were by jug handled ears and halitosis. They mocked my safety precautions. I announced once more that the capacity was seven. The pushing became even more prevalent. I was poohpoohed in an aggressive manner. Their cigars were starting to stick into the back of each other's necks. I thought you saucy chaps, you're all fiddling with each other's genitals at the closest of quarters. The lift was already swaying and groaning with the weight. Again I announced the risk. No one could bear to be the chap to step out and be left behind. The last bugger who finally squeezed himself aboard had his arse stuck in the doors. Wouldn't close. There was a general exhaling and he was fitted in. The mixture of smells was sickening. By the time they all got on they could have walked down. I thought well, stand by my post. A guardsman always. Of course I reckoned we were quite safe. I manoeuvered the power handle over to descend. Slowly. But we were picking up speed. The sixth floor passed by. The fourth flashed by. And the rest simply didn't exist at all. Not nice. I pressed and pulled and switched the emergency yokes. The whole gang of them shouting, what's wrong, stop it. I braced myself for the moment of impact at basement level. Or perhaps lower. And my lift which I had run without the loss of single life was suddenly a load of moaning trembling sweating jelly. Screams of legal steps and negligence and we want out. My God, I thought wistfully of my pedigree. And my most modest position. The alarm bell now ringing. Stifling smoke from cigars. Like a crematorium. One accusing another that he was breathing his area of air. A third that his lawyers would already be looking into his disappearance. Two chaps just behind me however were engrossed in discussing percentages of a deal. Thirteen of us trapped for twenty five minutes. Finally in the lobby there were police, fire brigade, lawyers, all taking dispositions from the lift travellers who had suffered moral disfigurement and spiritual bitterness in the disastrous descent. And would sue for damages. Each one pointing a finger at me. Balthazar. My dear man. Here you are, in life, where I should so much like to be."