J. Donleavy - A Singular Man

"Sorry Bonniface, I can't come. I have an urgent matter to attend."

"Ah George. Listen to me. Her Majesty is in town. You greet that news with silence. Come now get in this taxi with Mr. Mystery and me."

"No."

Taxi driver slowly turning round. Honking horns behind in the street.

"Hey look gentlemen. Already I'm taking a crippled dog in my cab, maybe fleas,how do I know."

"Come George. Don't have a mental struggle. Come. I'll tell you where you can find Her Majesty. I know how badly you would like to know. Don't fight it. And become a sad victim of will power. Melt it down, reharden it later, even harder. Let laxity triumph."

Smith entering the cab. To speed down Owl Street by the fish market, by the vegetable Pushcart Market under the bridge, to the left, along by a narrow dusty park of benches draped with sprawling men. And further up a cobblestone avenue.

"Smith do you shake hands with yourself in the morning because of loneliness. You desert wife and children. Climb in this cab at the mention of Her Majesty. Never-mind reasons. Mr. Jiffy has assisted me. Gave me a letter of introduction to a man who owns airplanes. Many many airplanes. He say, Mr. Clementine, you have beautiful manners, let me hire you to run my airport. Ah, George, surprise. Think I touch you for money. Or fill your life with fear. Not me. I just want to talk. Put you on the right track. Give you back your faith in people. They are not out to get you George, you imagine it."

Cab turning into a tenement street Of broken houses and steps. Garbage pouring out of cans. Taxi stopping in front of a little green façade of plate glass window and lace curtain. Bonniface slowly clinking change in the driver's hand. Said he was not tipping as it was a holy week in his religion. Two figures entering this establishment. The tallest of them with his arms full of dog.

At a washed maple table. Inside this cool and calm interior. Poinsettiae on a shelf. Calendar with a sunset and nude girl ankle deep in surf. Bonniface smilingly toting beer, bread and onion slices over to the sad dark suited Smith. And bending with a special serving to slip between the yellowing jaws of Mr. Mystery.

"O.K. George, tell me the truth. What are you up to in Dynamo House. In the Cabin in the woods. In the Merry Mansions. In the Renown Cemetery."

"Where is Her Majesty."

"Smith, you pant for Her Majesty, old enough to be your mother. Have a flower for your buttonhole. And for you under there Mr. Mystery, another slice of onion. Get yourself a dog, George, ere long. Be a true friend to animals. See how he wags. Eyes sad but full of friendship. Someone pushed him out to die, you realise that George."

"Where's Her Majesty."

"Ah now. Patience. Look over there. Those old men play chess. Remember a certain five o'clock on a chilly late autumn day. Across the seas. Turf smoke. Leaves gone from the trees in the square. I came like a moth to a light in the gloomy afternoon, George. Your white coated servant let me in. You gave me a green bowl of tea. I said thank you. How was I to know then that you would deliberately pursue a life of secrecy and possibly shame. All gaiety defunk. Maybe you like men, George. And surround yourself with wife, kiddies, secretaries and girl friends as a blind. You can tell me. I'm frequently having my privates interfered with in this town. Stay off the transit. Stay out of the bed linen market, the outdoor jewelry market."

Smith standing. Bonniface reaching over with a hand pressing it down on his shoulder. Smith collapsing back on the chair.

"George, don't go. Have some recreation. Then promise to bring you straight to Her Majesty. Look at Mr. Mystery down there. Used to like lady dogs in his prime. Bow wow he went. Hello lady doggie. Sniff sniff. Naughty Mystery. Nice lady dog. Lift leg on corner stones and parked motor wheels. I am in command George, walk out on the apron of the airport, hand extended to a celebrity and say, please, this way, with the compliments of Motor Bird Inc. Refreshment is set up. At the flick of a cuff link I am of service."

Smith looking down upon his cool beer. Foam gently climbing the edge of the glass. A thick slab of onion. Deeply worn smooth grain of the table. The light eyes of Bonniface. Whose earthly wish he once said was to be taken back into history and there be assigned four porters to fetch him to various breweries on a throne.

"George listen to me. Never let your capability get confounded. I know you've found the mammoth nipple. Have it hidden somewhere in this town. Look out the window and watch the cars. When they stop flowing that's the time to worry. You rich. Me banjaxed. Wait, don't go."

"Bonniface, I'm going. You and Mr. Mystery stay. But I must go. Urgently."

Bonniface rising, bowing. Mr. Mystery flapping his tail on the floor.

"George I will tell you the whereabouts of Her Majesty when you come back."

Smith entering a delicatessen across the street. After much heated and hilarious argument he bought a paper bag from the proprietor who said they were for customers to carry a purchase. Smith reaching a fast settlement, buying the air rights within the said container. Stepping outside, late lunch stampede on the pavements. Smith into a cab. At a traffic light, driver shouting epithets out the window at another taxi. Why don't you smoke a bomb. Why don't you dig a grave and drop dead. Lights go green. To sadness and deals. And every man's hope.

To get

In her

Without

A wedding.

IN front of a tall marble building. Gigantic bronze doors. Smith entering this emporium of finance with his paper bag. Late noonday sun beaming from high barred windows and warming Smith's dark shoulders as he wrote on a little piece of paper. Standing in a line of fidgeting depositors. A breast distinctly shoving him in the back. The mammoth nipple Bonnif ace mentioned.

Smith's turn. Pushing across his little piece of paper. To a Mister Cheer it said on a little sign, whose face blossomed and nearly flew with friendship. Wide bow tie for a propeller. Who thought for one amazed second it was a stickup.

"One moment, Sir."

"I can't spare it."

"O."

"In rather a hurry."

"Well you see, I'll have to clarify the situation Mr. Smith. I mean is it for the payoff."

"I beg your pardon. Do I have to sue you and this bank for aspersion."

"But a cheque this size for cash, well I'm supposed to clarify."

"How dare you."

"I could lose my job. This is an awful lot of money."

"You suggesting that I am attempting to commit fraud."

"No sir."

"Then instantly fulfil the sum of that cheque, in brand new notes."

"Mr. Smith I know you must be nervous over being sued. I mean supposing there was some miscalculation in your account, sir."

"Are you suggesting errors, that the balance forward is a wrong number. And what do you mean by sued and payoff/* "You're putting words into my mouth. Only want to verify the clarification of balance for your convenience."

"My convenience is that you answer this cheque in cash instantly or I shall take steps to deal with your first aspersions. Cast irresponsibly on my character."

"I'll do just as you say. I'm new at this branch. I mean anyone can lose control and attack."

Mr. Cheer like employees everywhere is uttering irrelevancies. Perspiration on his brow now dripping on the banknotes. Fingers peeling up their edges, knuckles banging the marble, making one little neat pile next to another.

"You want to count this yourself, Mr. Smith."

"I measure by eye. Put one more on that pile you'll be right."

"Better count this again."

Smith pressed from behind by the mammoth aggressive breasts. Life is too fast to bother to turn and say madam please don't splash those on me. Close this account down with a shattering clang. Nervous being sued. Of course I'm nervous being sued. My mind is hair raising.