J. Donleavy - A Singular Man

YOUR HEART IS ALL RIGHT

D. Romney

M. Bradfield

And tonight these many traumas since. Smith sliding the slip of paper back in the wallet between all the thin treasury bills. Shine gone from shoes. Death certificate all filled out. See Mr. Stone in the lobby of Merry Mansions. A fair minded man. He'll say to Hugo Mr. Smith's only a documentation now. Stretched on the feather filled cushions here. Chase Tomson down the roads. And into the hereafter. I let her go. When you must take women. Open their lips with fingers. Speak to the flower. Each petal then will curl back as you tell it with your voice. Big stately bitch you are.

Smith put his tired softness on the bed. Arms spread out, head across elbow. Where to go. Where to be. Sting of her slap on my face would have been better than nothing at all. Could have led her by the hand to bed. Untwisted any wire or garment on her large blond frame. Unlatched the straps behind her back. Dive in, a soft mountain water full of her cool long fingers. Will ask God something while I sleep.

Please

Wish you would

Give everyone

A pot

To piss in

So they would not

Ask for mine.

Pots are ringing. Like strange bells pinging. Hear it all in my ear. The phone. I fell asleep. Who knows I'm here. Who is that ringing. Like a hand reaching out of a closet door. Ding a ling. Let it ring. Ding a ling. Someone knows I'm here. Smith picking up the talking instrument.

"Hello."

"Mr. Smith, night porter here, Norbert. Gee, look there's a party down here, I had to disturb you. Says they want to speak to you, said they knew you were here. I said I'd ring and find out but that I had no knowledge you were in the building. You know I wouldn't want you raided."

"What are you trying to sell."

"Nothing, this particular party sir, didn't occur to me, I was pretty shook up, you might say it was a dish."

"What do you mean dish."

"Well, you know what I mean, dish, someone if I was you I'd be seeing I tell you, only I know you're busy. But maybe interested in an hour or two."

"Look here, who is this. What do you mean by this extraordinary conversation."

"It's Norbert, plain old Norbert. Just telling you what I know. Hey by the way, been thinking over your investment advice. I told the chef what you said, he wants to come in on the advice as well. Says he'll send you up a souffle."

"It's five twenty by my watch. In the morning."

"I know. I know. That's what I told this dish."

"And don't call me again. Good night."

"Gee. Good night."

Smith derobing. Flicking off the lights. Leave a feeble glow of lamp in the sitting room. That son of a bitch Norbert. Thought I was on the job. And add a thrill with a phone call. A dish in the lobby asking for you. The whole world tries to get in touch and have some sort of ring side seat. Even at toilet of a morning. Ring the village bell. George Smith, gentleman, has made a motion. Without incident. The bell echoing down the valley. Without incident. The bell echoing down Thankful the town folk paused and clapped.

A motion

This side of the ocean

Producing a tidal variation

Upon the opposite shore

One could not ignore.

Ding a ling. Smith sitting on the edge of bed. Trousers down. World wants to know time of tomorrow's movement. Pick up this phone for the last desperate time.

"Gee Mr. Smith I'm really sorry, this is Norbert, night porter, on duty the Boar Hotel, again. There's some misunderstanding down here. And boy this party, the dish is on the way up by the private elevator. Told me to mind my own damn business and slapped me. Christ. Said get lost, buster. I'm not tussling with any more of these parties who want audience with you Mr. Smith. If she wasn't so beautiful I'd let her have one on the jaw, sure she's no friend of yours. Even the papers say you have assets they don't even know about. That's what I've been saying to the property owners around here. I say, so what, you own property, I tell them get a gun, this long, about a foot, go down your cellar and start blasting. They're crying about their taxes, sure I tell them, sure you got taxes, sure, you go down your cellar and start blasting."

"All right, Norbert."

"Sure I say, you got your taxes, all these property owners, sure, go down your cellar and start blasting."

"Thanks for informing me."

"Start blasting, that's what the property owners — "

George Smith gently put down the phone. Norberts got some kind of affliction. A gentle knock on the door. Opening it. Sally Tomson standing there. Stepping across the threshold.

"Kiss me. I'm so desperately sad."

"You poor kid, come to me."

The drink of a refreshing fountain. Her long tall frame. The perfume of her neck. In under the tresses of hair. Find the ear. Say something but can't think of a thing. Except how your open mouth has such tender softness. So much younger than I think. More afraid than I knew. You didn't want to drive away in the rainy world. Who would help or keep you safe. All cold. Come in. Put this door shut with a nudge of toe. The hours before we touch and then touch and everything is all right. Skins together. Melt the chill conversation to tiny groans. You tremble. Peek out of my eyes close up to yours. Arms around my neck. Underneath your closed lids come dropping big tears. Down the side of your nose they go, around the nostril. And sneak between our lips. We have no future. All the sad spoils we spend. You thought me some cheap operator, waltzing from one soiled little deal to another, extending a hand here and there with a nice to sue you. I'm kind to those who love me. Soft and tender to the helpless. You kick off your slippers to make you smaller. Stand in your stockings. Dress unzips down the back. Caught me without trousers at all. A leaf you are, go all golden, full of autumnal beauty. Reach up, Miss Tomson, I am your buffalo.

"Jesus, Smith. What old fashioned underwear."

"Christ, Miss T."

"I've never reached into a man's pants before."

"Feel free."

"Think I'm lewd."

"You're no wall flower."

"Shouldn't have come up here the way I did. I was mortified in the lobby. Made a scene. You just let me go out of the garage. Why didn't you stop me."

"Because I wanted you to come back."

"Take me into the bedroom. Carry me."

"You're a big girl. I might rupture."

"Gee you look handsome, Smith. I'll carry you."

"Mustn't let you. Miss Tomson."

"Come on, I'm strong."

"You'll strain yourself."

"I want to."

"Let's walk."

"Smithy, hold hands."

On the green carpet with a swing of linked arms. Her blue dress open down her spine. All those bones are pearls. Jasmine flowers on the curtains. Deep throated train trundling through the station, whistle wailing. Below this unholy hotel. Full of the strange spirits lain here before.

"You're strange Smith. It's sad."

"Why do you say it's sad."

"Wasted all this time. I never thought you liked me."

" O God."

"You do. Smithy."

'Tes."

"I like you. I think. I do. Yesh. Let's get off our clothes."

Untie the tie. Unbutton the shirt. Minute ago so light with loneliness, nearly blew away. When her clothes are gone. One by one on the floor. Leave your pearls. Makes me gulp. Such an impertinence sticking out like that. Cast iron. Apologise. Nurses can sting it with a rap of the finger on the end and make it go down. Mine's flying. Zeplin, biggest it's ever been. On its mooring. Look. No time to be shy. Got to turn away. A gasp.

"O God Smith."

"What."

"I saw it."

"O."

"It's big."

"It's normal."

"Honest to God it's not. I never would of thought it was as big. It smiles. That's why I gasped. That is really something."

"Thank you."

"It's beautiful. You're an endless surprise."