J. Donleavy - A Singular Man

And today ten years later and three days before silent night holy night when business volume is at a peak and downstairs a loud bellowing noise in the cellar with four kids pounding on the pipes. And Shirl swirling with her new cocktail dress. And I told her to shut up, and wham she goes all silent. My how things have changed. There was reason for my being the way I was. When I was young. When Shirl one weekend fell for some big blond brute who she said lifted her up and kissed her against a wall with her feet dangling. But we had got too close then and she went away a weekend begging she had to, would I let her go because she needed to stay in circulation just so she could still stay exciting to me. She said let's play with each other's emotions. Torture each other with jealousy, let's George betray the faith we have in each other and build it all up again after. And just this one weekend with the blond brute, so she could walk in the gates of the college and the blond brute could brag about how she was his date. She came back to me with not much to say except when she talked about it she got shifty eyed and started breathing heavily. Then she said I hate the way you are, you never tried to stop me.

"George, I got an engagement tonight after dinner, so you don't mind we can call a car maybe to take you back."

"I see."

Shirl when she says things picks something up off a table. Puts it back. Then she goes towards the kitchen and talks over her shoulder. Wags her behind. A neat compact soft thing in the days when I was in a position to feel it. I suppose if I just went up to her now and touched it. But I have no right to presume in our separated state that I could lay hand on this part of her. There's little more than I can take of this kind of thing, because I ought to take her and the dress off and give her a boot out in the snow. No one around here to complain, Mr. Smith seen driving the stitchless Mrs. Smith into the elements. I own this land.

"George, you're wearing your sense of ownership on your face."

"It's my face. You've got your own face."

"Gee thanks George."

"Anytime. What's your engagement."

"Interested. You want to come. These people are dying to meet you. Because you've got such a weird reputation. The way you swam at the island picnic last year. Everyone was impressed the way you dove into the cold water and stroked superbly out to the float, the masterful smoothness of your movements, I personally know for a fact all ladies were desperate to wiggle out of bathing garments and dive after you."

"Are you finished."

"George if you saw yourself. If you hadn't been so flamboyant no one would have minded."

"I almost drowned. That's not amusing. I took a very discreet dive. I have never tried to show off swimming."

"Sometimes I wonder where all the big strong men in this world have gone. If there ever were any."

"I was drowning. Big strong men can drown as well as people like myself. I mean I'm not all that weak."

"Boxing and wrestling lessons at The Game Club."

"Who told that."

"Never mind. Got your face beat in, too, I heard."

"Balls. Who told you that. I want to know where you got that information."

"Ittle George."

"Shut up, Shirl."

"I guess this is just like all our weekends. O you're just one big great long bluff."

"I reject that."

"George what's that. Hey what's that red thing. You're not wearing long red underwear."

"I'll wear whatever I feel like and stop torturing me."

"George, you're made for it. Look at what I had to do to make you masterful And soon as I made you masterful and you made money — "

"Do not mention money, Shirl."

"So anyway I made you masterful."

"I'm masterful myself."

"The only time traffic will stop for you, George, is when you're dead."

"Get me my galoshes."

Dust sifting through the sunlight. When the silence gets terrible and Shirl sees an ash white face on a once gentle Smith. Like a sudden thoughtful finger up to her lips.

"George. I'm sorry I said that."

"It's all right, get me my galoshes."

"I really am sorry I said it. I wish I didn't say it. Strike me for saying it, George. Strike me anywhere you want."

"I'll get the galoshes myself."

"George I beg of you to strike me for saying it. I say the wrong things. That come into my head and I wish you wouldn't listen."

Shirl silent at the door. Leaving it open with the chill wind rushing into the house as George walked out. The lane along the orchard, in summer such a sweet place of tall grass and black snakes. And now they must be sleeping under the rocks. And it seemed on the air that a voice shouted something more but it got cold and hushed. Snow plow moving down the road, leaving a wide track and high drifts. Driver wearing orange ear muffs. Only thing I noticed. And going afi the way back I hardly knew I was going. Could have relented, tucked down the dinner and took a car back. I'm like that. Withdraw utterly from the ultimate insult. And left the kids in the cellar. Not that they like me anyway. Take my money, and then look me in the eye and say who asked you to be our father. That's the kind of remark those kids make. They were watching out a cellar window, heard their mother screaming she didn't mean it, that she'd take it all back. Be a new one for the kids. Gee, dad was like a clam, walked right away in the snow and he never turned around.

The Goose Goes Inn with several cars collected and some guests throwing snowballs one of which caught Smith between the shoulder blades making a round white blot on his coat as he climbed the hollow wooden steps. His dispirited nature and oblivion drew some comments about the fellowship this time of year of some people wasn't worth mentioning. Inside, the Christmas tree, tinsel and strains of music of the modern yule variety from the cocktail lounge. Crossing the lobby for the key.

"Sir there have been three phone calls."

"I'm not in to anybody."

"Not to anybody. They said it was urgent and tell you soon as you got in."

"I'm going for a nap."

Worried looking receptionist. Don't worry, it's just Shirl who thinks I may be wiring instructions to my bank where they've got all my legal tender neatly stacked from which they take and send a handful often to Shirl. She's afraid she might have to sell her horse and the kids' ponies, cut down the guest list, summer itineraries. While I sit in that box with my secretary's exboy-friends spying from buildings across Golf Street. Opening letters of obnoxious intimidators. Sure, go ahead, buy that fabric with the lunch look, get a dinner, breakfast, any look you want.

Sadly Smith derobed. Plunging into a steaming shower to unfreeze the muscles and bones. And put a face to the showering water and breathe it up the nose. Feel it cascade off the privates so lonely these days. Only thing bright about climbing into this afternoon bed is the red underwear. To sleep, lay with a hand outstretched on the pillow, open, palm upwards, will someone's head lie back in it, tighten a fist up in the brown thatch. Can you ever go back to bodies where you've been, once you've left. Count the cherries in the bowl and see if I've got the most. Join hands while music plays. See summer lanterns burn the fireflies. Or walk by an autumn river, stand against a tree just seeing each other in the ordinary afternoon. You make a baby. Then you can't sleep at night. Go to a park bench for two years to catch up. Another baby comes. Finally one day you can breathe. And these former babies tell you stop breathing.

Smith rolled over, pulling up the crisp sheets. Digging toes down. Self employed slave. Shirl never made me masterful. If anything she's contributed to my cringing. Dazzling crowds in train stations the tanned beauty in white linen suits while I was just walking along behind looking like her employee. Telling me to do the right thing so people will be impressed. No one could take their eyes off her eyes, her legs, hair and I started grabging on all sides. Goodnight now. And hello. I see a woman walking along a road wearing nothing but a cardboard sign which she's showing me and it says be my valentine. And jumping into a fast car, making for the highest hill, I erected another sign which you can see for miles around and it said, in no uncertain words, you bet.