J. Donleavy - The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

Gallantly through dinner Beefy lightheartedly tickling the fancies of nurse and nannie. Through the somewhat long pauses as Boats got stuck outside the dining room door. His shoes far too big for him. The tray too heavy. Until the yells from cook brought us all running. Boats in the scullery covered in gravy and mint sauce. Beefy and I lifting the dear old gentleman bodily. Up to his bed. Putting compresses softly on his brow. As I had to rush to meet Alphonsine, an au pair arrived from France. In her soft grey suit, short cropped hair and pretty eyes. And quite extraordinary arse, much callipyge.

But again we were all nice and settled. Cook laying a place for Alphonsine. As she sat shy with her wine, slabs of lamb, rhubarb custard, port and cheese. Which Beefy and I brought up to Boats and he lay propped with pillows in bed, a purple tasselled night cap on his white head. His faint blue eyes and delicate long fingered hands. We poured his port and held it for him to his lips and slowly he revived and indeed was rather animated and cheerful. Spoke of his great old days with Uncle Edouard and before that in the grandnesses of Wales. When he went shooting and fishing. And met his first love. Until he finally fell asleep and gently snored.

Beefy and I sat there with the sleeping Boats. Quaffing a decanter of port. Quite silent. Tonight in England. Across all the stiff upper unmustached lips. Men not clever, not overly endowed with carnal prowess, but of normal pleasant appetites, only asking to enjoy their pudding in peace. Some with a quiet evening erection browsing through their erotica. Secure in their postal districts, or preferred counties. At slipper footed ease in their castles. And here in Crescent Curve where Boats busted the cut glass bowls one by one. To my cheered relief to see the last of these seventeen wedding presents purchased at the same sale finally disappear.

"Of course Balthazar. I was so depressed. Nothing seemed dandy randy and delightful anymore. Wondering if the sun would ever come up again. To be witnessed solitary in London. Known that one's diary entries are nil. That one's life doesn't merit having the hours booked up. I chose some fluff from the Bayswater Road. And announced my desires. She said that will be two guineas extra. I said guineas. She said yes, Fm not like the other girls, my fees have always been in guineas. Very cheeky she was. I said peruse my organ and pull it gently for me please. I sang my repertoire of Irish ballads. She said aren't you the straightforward darling though. I said usually I was rather more craven but wasn't at my best tonight. She had a quite nice little place. She asked me if I wanted to watch her ride for two more guineas her rocking horse in her transparent macintosh. Of course, I screamed, I want to see you ride. Then she asked me to give her a little fluttering of the whip across her what for. I said madam that will be exactly three guineas. She was furious. But you know, suddenly again I was awfully cheered. At that moment. And my God. What happens. The floor was quivering. And shaking. As I laid on the lash. I knocked her over. Both of us fell. And one's one leg and a knee of the other went right through a blasted cardboard patch in the floor. Came out through the ceiling below, in a room where they were showing the second house of a dirty film. Well I scratched my head. I really did. And calmly looked down upon the scene. Not nice. Boats dear man is snoring there, I may be giving him dreams. But upon my word, the debacle of the lift was most minor. There they were below. Dirty film goers. About fifteen of them. Trying to get out the door. Some through a blocked up window. I could catch a glimpse of the untoward film still flickering on its moth eaten screen. Of course they thought it was the police. Attacking from the top. I must confess I did myself whisper such a word. Thought it would frighten away complaints from below. Said this is the chief detective superintendent Beefy, everyone stay as you are. The thing was the chaps below were locked in. Pure murder. I recognised a titled cousin struggling in the dust and broken chairs to get out between someone's legs. Packed with peerage it was. One shouting out that he wished to call attention to the lack of sanitary provisions in a place of entertainment and was present there officially investigating the matter. Marvellous ruddy cheek of the chap. But enough Balthazar. I must go. Look how Boats sleeps. After his long gentle life. My God it makes one wish one had been born a butler."

Quietly leaving Boats' room. Past Alphonsine's door. Where Beefy bent to peek in the keyhole and put his hand up to his amazed lips. As I dragged him away and down the stairs. To bid him a fond goodnight out my front door. Standing between the two little statues of doggies. Beefy patting them on the head. I watched him walk away down the street. Until the shadow of his jaunty shoulders turned the corner. After this April third day. Back in there the little family I'd founded. To look up at the sky. Mountains of cloud tumbling across the tree tops down the street. Rain beginning to fall. I sigh. When suddenly one is left without a complaint.

The silent house. To pass back into my study. The wall now lined with volumes treating of the whole of the animal kingdom. Of the birds and snakes, of the monkey and the horse. Port left in the decanter on my desk. Sit at last for a little read of the paper. Sip the sweet splendour of this ancient fortified wine. And lay out the page. Of The Times. Announcing marriages, births and ruby weddings. And rows of deaths. Of all these pleasant ringing names. Adams, Blyth, Clutterbuck, Donoghue, Eliot. And.

FITZDARE. On March 3ist, peacefully at The Manor, Co. Fermanagh, Elizabeth Astrid Benedicta Fitzdare, beloved only daughter of Raphael Fitzdare, in her twenty fourth year. Funeral private at The Manor. No flowers please.

I do and say nothing all these days. As I sit taking my meals silent and alone in my study, watching out on chill winds and sudden April snows. Beefy went to Scotland for another desperate and unsuccessful bid to prise loose funds from his granny. On his return I met him at his club. Sitting away in a corner. Suddenly I couldn't hold my sorrow. Pouring from me like a great ghost. And just as Beefy was that crushing day my Tillie was torn away. He put his arm across my shoulders. And walked me home across the park.

Poor old Boats went back into retirement. When he regained his feet again. And left me his knife sharpener and shoe horns as a gift. Nurse said goodbye in her big hat. Said she would miss all the wine. Nannie sat rigid and correct day in and out. Her narrow compressed lips and bustling starchiness through the house driving me out of my mind. Saved by the laughing and pleasing Alphonsine. Who went happily cleaning and telling me about her Paris boyfriend Jacques. Sometimes she wheeled the little fellow out in his pram. I could go and talk with her when I followed them to the park. And Millicent hearing me come one early evening into my room, stood at the dressing room door.

"You never take me out anywhere."

"I'm sorry."

"I'll bet. Where were you all afternoon. Fll tell you where.

Talking to Alphonsine in the Dell in the park."

"I'm sorry but I don't care to get into an argument."

"I could kill you."

"Another time perhaps. I want to change."

"You're going to the ballet again."

"Yes."

"What right have you got to tell my mother to stay away from this house."

"Possibly a legal right. I'm not sure.' "I could kill you."

"Yes."

"Why don't you be a man.' "I want to change my clothes please."

On that occasion Millicent knocked over the furniture in my room. Broke the mirror with an ashtray. And heaved other glass through the air. Until Alphonsine came rushing in to see what the matter was. When a hair brush bounced off the side of my head and I saw stars. A cut across my brow. As Milli-cent charged, her fingers drawn up to scratch my face, and Alphonsine intervened.