J. Donleavy - A Singular Man

Bury it

In

Your window

Box.

A poppy

Will grow.

GEORGE Smith in a rented pair of blue tinted eyeglasses, crossing by the fish market and moving down Owl Street past the wide steps of the Treasury Building towards Dynamo House. The middle of the month of August. Reaching out across the weeks to sink clutching fingers into this harmless Wednesday.

Starting at seven o'clock this morning to walk from Merry Mansions. To watch the city awake. Sanitation trucks sprinkling the street. Along the river, breakfast being served in the vast grey hospital. Nights now at their lonely worst. Matilda, an angel fluttering over redemption meetings, home late. While I stand lurking in the train stations, bus terminals. Fly firmly zipped up. Hoping to see some unbelievable golden sign of Miss Tomson's head.

Down in the early morning streets messengers trotting in and out of doors. This instant I feel good. Ships moving out to sea on the high tides. Barges carrying western trains headed north across the narrow waters. Bridges and highways humming with tires. Smell of coffee across this downtown.

Smith stopping, looking up. Obstructing him in his forward motion, a face coming out of prepsterhood. Quickly steering a detour into the gutter. Nearly getting cut down with machines, and leaping back from the honking horns. Too late, too weak and vulnerable to turn and run this crazy time in my personal history. A smooth jawed figure. Grey natty topcoat, cream shirt and fat striped tie. And eyes that turned on their glow.

"I know you, hey aren't you George Smith. Not so fast like you were at the building site, that time."

"Beep."

"Ha you're George Smith all right."

"Beep."

"What do you mean, beep for an old friend. We were prepsters together."

"Beep."

"Ha ha George. It is you. Greetings. No kidding. Well how are you. I read that nifty write up in the papers. I mean you're a somebody. I mean I'm not doing badly. I'm doing all right. Got myself a little old partnership. But I mean how are you, all right."

"Beep beep."

"Now wait a minute. George ha ha. I know this is a funny situation."

"Beep."

"But a joke's a joke. O.K."

"Beep beep."

"Now hold it. Let's not make a meeting like this in the middle of Owl Street with all the congestion, holding things up. I mean you're located here. What do you say."

"Beep."

"Gee George is there something wrong. Are they crowding you. This has kind of gone on too long to be comic. I can take a hint, if that's it. What are you saying this beep to me for. If you don't want to recognise me say so."

"Beep beep."

"What is it. Is this a method, something happened and you use this method. I mean they said in the papers you were building a mausoleum, that costs, I know. I mean are you nervous."

"Beep."

"It's a method."

"Beep."

"I see that's one beep. O now I remember. The rude noise you made to the reporters. O I'm catching on, a voice lapse. It's one beep, maybe, for yes."

"Beep."

"And two for no."

"Beep."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know anything about this George. Is it permanent."

"Beep."

"Gee that's tough, on your wife and kids. I heard you got married. Only guessing you got kids. To Shirl. What a girl. She'd never even give me a tumble. Remember the tea dances. Those white linen suits Shirl used to wear. She was beautiful."

"Beep."

"But I just didn't know you had this problem. I guess you're under specialists."

"Beep."

"New method like this must tax the mind. You must want to really say something once in awhile. Like an opinion."

"Beep beep."

"Is that right. If there's anything you need. I know you have money. But if you're bothered by a problem, spiritual, you know. Why you holding your hand to your ear. You're not deaf too."

"Beep."

"O, gee that's tough. You lip read."

"Beep."

"You remember Alice. You know I married her."

"Beep beep."

"She only mentioned you the other day. How Shirl followed you right across the ocean. The ocean. I'm saying the ocean. My Alice, yes, mentioned you. She mentioned you. This is a really rotten world. Real rotten. It's rotten. Guy's speech and hearing cut off in his prime. I said in your prime. It's a shame. But you can still see. I said see, you can still see. To lip read. From behind the blue glasses."

"Beep."

"Thank God for that. Can they do something for you. I said, help you. Can they help you."

"Beep beep."

"It makes you sick, doesn't it. A disgrace. I said it was a disgrace."

"Beep."

"Believe me I'm really sorry for what's happened to you. I mean that sincerely. I said, I'm sorry. Sincerely."

"Beep beep beep."

"That's three. I got it. For thanks."

"Beep."

"Only George, I'm sort of in a hurry. Like to hang on, talk over old times. Sure would like to hear what it was like serving in a foreign army. Must feel good to be a colonel. I said full colonel. Must feel good to be one. Get together won't we. I mean sometime, old sport, when you're all right again. You'll be all right. Thing is not to worry. I said don't worry. Looking at my watch. Got to be dead on time, somewhere. An appointment. I wish you all of God's luck that someday you may be well again. Hope your health comes back. I mean that."

"Beep beep beep."

"Sorry I got to rush. But if you can read my lips I'm saying the cure may be in prayer George. Pray. So long."

"Beep beep beep beep."

"Ha ha, goodbye. Goodbye."

Smith ducking into the inhuman stream. Entering Dynamo House. So many have wives and little ones. Like the lonely have themselves. I've just the strength to climb these stairs. Ugliness brings taunts and jeers from passersby. Elegance invites assault from strangers. Old friendships promote beeps.

As a crap

Can lead

To crutches.

Miss Martin sitting at her desk in room 604. Looking up with apprehensive eyes. A tiny smile at the corner of her lips as Smith cleared his throat and said a forceful good morning. In the corner a canvas container stiffly against the wall. Four mornings it's rested there, and while Miss Martin was out purchasing wiener and crumb cake for lunch yesterday I sneaked to take a look and swallowed peering down a narrow bore barrel.

Seems for no reason at all I go beep. But the presence of a lethal instrument makes one tense at any sudden sound in the front office. Miss Martin's been making rapid visits to the water closet feeling sick. Once staying there two hours. Perhaps say a little word before she starts to read her newspaper.

"Miss Martin, the rifle."

"Yes."

"I note it has a hair trigger."

"Yes."

"I know we're a little informal here nowadays."

"You left the files in the woods Mr. Smith. Not me. Don't start blaming me."

"Nothing to do with the files. I like to be easy. Informal."

"If you don't want me around anymore, Mr. Smith say so. Don't think I like all this tension too."

"I'm talking about that gun there."

"What about it."

"That's what I want to know. Miss Martin."

"Well what do you want to know. Mr. Smith."

"Don't be abrupt Miss Martin."

"Look I'm not going to shoot you with the rifle if that's what you're scared of."

"I'm not scared."

"Well what are you asking then."

"Why you have it."

"Don't you know. I'm on a rifle team. I told you. Guess you didn't hear me with all the beer cans banging back there."

Long hard moments. Miss Martin who was putting on fat belligerently, staring into Smith's reasonably honest globes. What harm a few beers. In the office. When one is commander in chief. Big cheese in this two personal outfit. Once ruled a regiment, Miss Martin. Howitzers shelling those positions I figured out in my little wooden shack well behind the lines. A flash focus of the enemy in a field glass. And whamo. But in peace time I take a beer or two while I stare down the clause of a contract and the rebellious beam from my secretary's eye. Morning is no moment for a showdown. Wait till the day wears on. Dim the sparkle in her cheeks. Now apple red. Make a lot of money, gladly lose a lot of friends. Once poor and popular. Now rich and reptile.