J. Donleavy - A Singular Man

A corpse which shall well and truly have been determined to be me and such determination being absolutely beyond any shadow of doubt or mistake, such corpse shall be further untouched and placed immediately in a sycamore coffin, and such coffin put in a subdued manner and fashion in the tomb erected for this purpose for which adequate provisions have already been made. My name, George Smith, shall be carved deeply in the sycamore and followed by the inscription hereinafter set forth.

The innocent

Were cowering

As the guilty

Closed in on them

Murderously.

SOMETHING about the hoot of the vessel entering the river, made George Smith shiver. Two weeks of rain storm and hurricane. For three days Miss Martin could not get to work because of flooding in the subway. And suddenly it stopped. Sun up, clear sky, air fresh, all vernal on die first day of May. And arrival of a telegram.

S.S. CINATIT

MAY I

DOCK THIS MORNING BROKE DESPERATE

BONNIFACE

Miss Martin arrived whistling. Could hear her swing her little basket up on her desk. And her jaunty step to the water cooler installed during the raging hurricane. Nipping her head in the door and smiling.

"Mr. Smith, it's wonderful out."

"Good."

"Everybody's so cheerful. I walked across the park.

Just as a ship was coming in. I feel marvelous this morning. I want to sing. What's the matter, Mr. Smith."

"Any letters."

"Just one. Got my nail file. I'll open it. Here."

i Electricity Street

Rear Room

604

Dear Sir,

To hand your letter of "Turdsday" so unseemly spelled, in which you threaten us with the words "Watch out" and the postscript that you are blessed with two headlamps to focus on our medical history.

We now require by telegram that you send us something to salve the outrage caused by these recent remarks to this office.

Yours faithfully,

J J J. Jr.

"Miss Martin, did the ship this morning look cheerful."

"Funny you should ask that Mr. Smith. You know I thought it looked very strange. I don't know why but it seemed crippled in some way. And a phrase just came into my mind. Ship of shame. I had the feeling no one would want to meet that ship."

"You said a mouthful."

"What Mr. Smith."

"Nothing Miss Martin. I'll just scribble this reply to our friend, J.J J. Jr. Just mail it."

May 1st

Owl Street

J.J.J.

DearJunior,

Under separate cover and under approprkte wraps I am sending you a piece of ass.

Yours truly,

G. Smith

"On second thoughts Miss Martin. Send this letter by telegram."

"Yes Mr. Smith."

Smith taking a few moments to peruse in the mirror. View the eye balls. Father of four children. None of whom one would dare call Junior. A lonely life. Miss having a few youngsters around. Driving the breath out of me. Miss Martin in there on the phone will you ever have kinder. Some little baby all your own.

"My God, Mr. Smith."

"What is it, Miss Martin."

"O Mr. Smith."

"For Jesus sake, what is it."

Smith running in. Not far to go. Must be wary of gathering too much speed, else land in Owl Street having torpedoed the partition and another suite across the hall, the Institute Of Higher Graduation.

"Have you seen the newspaper. It's got your picture. Right on the front page."

"Great scot."

"Says full story page sixteen. Your arm is raised up. You can just see my shoulder and bit of hair."

"I want you to call a car Miss Martin. To be here right away. Pack up my papers on my desk. Put in an eraser. Have you sent off that wire."

"Yes. I just want to say something Mr. Smith."

"What Miss Martin."

"Whatever else happens I just want you to know that your self control in the mop closet was wonderful. I wanted to say that to you before."

"Then I can ask you something, Miss Martin. And I hope you'll understand."

"Of course Mr. Smith."

"Would you like to come with me to the country for a few days. Let me make it absolutely clear this is entirely up to you. And needless to say you would have your own bedroom."

"You mean at a hotel Mr. Smith. Well I'd have to tell my mother."

"Phone her. But you know how mothers are Miss Martin. It might only be politic to say you're house-partying fully chaperoned, with other young people."

"All right, Mr. Smith. But how long."

"Two, three days."

Smith returning nervously into the rear of 604, opening up the newspaper across his desk.

WATCHFUL WAITING IN OWL STREET

There was renewed buoyancy without bouncing in the financial district of this city where the spotlight has narrowed on one or two personalities today when the market appeared decidedly bullish.

It was against a background of corrective pause, which observers found no longer refreshing, when it was thought certain members of this city were taking profits home and most stocks were marked down as a result of heavy selling. Sentiment however, was strong that this selling would be short lived. Many members wanting to avoid being caught napping or short lived, lurked throughout the afternoon to get a glimpse of Mr. George Smith who was briefly seen to leave Dynamo House, Owl Street, early this afternoon.

It is not definitely known what part, if any, Mr. Smith has played in the recent holocaust although it is thought by some members that Mr. Smith might give an inkling of the future and they have been closely watching the situation.

Mr. Smith's return to Dynamo House was witnessed by a large crowd, who had gathered on the pavements from early afternoon. He was seen to enter the building wearing a red carnation followed by his secretary and he hastily attempted the steps to avoid photographers. Reporters putting questions to Mr. Smith were greeted by a rude noise, and an airy quip by Mr. Smith "Report that to the sanitation department."

Mr. Smith, a military strategist in the last conflict, has consistently refused to give interviews, however, it is known that he occupies two back rooms at Dynamo House having recently removed from an office midtown, but the true nature of his business remains unknown. It had been previously said in some quarters that Mr. Smith was of no fixed address. It is now established he keeps an apartment in Merry Mansions where many of the city's celebrities reside. It is further rumoured that Mr. Smith has been long engaged in the construction of a tomb to house his remains, reputed to be one of the most elaborate ever erected, entirely air conditioned with special foundations to protect the structure from floods and earthquake. The Renown Cemetery authorities refuse to comment on this, said to be the most costly construction to date in the Cemetery and which till now had been associated with the name of a Doctor Fear.

Smith emerging from the back room. Level lipped and grim. Phone ringing. Rapping on the door. All at once. Everything.

"I'll get the door, Miss Martin. You get the phone."

Smith opening the door. A little boy in uniform. A letter.

"Special messenger delivery."

"Thank you."

Smith slowly closing the door in which it seemed a small foot was put.

"I beg your pardon, little boy. Your foot's in the door."

"Yeah."

"Won't you take it out."

"Hey some people, I guess you don't get any appreciation."

"What are you talking about sonny."

"A tip."

"What do you mean a tip."

"Ain't you this guy with his picture in the paper this morning. Well you should give me a tip for bringing a message."

"Just hold it sonny, I'll read it."

i Electricity Street

604 Dynamo

Owl Street

Dear Sir,

How dare you attempt to mail me such a thing. Do not refer to me as Junior.