J. Donleavy - A Singular Man

"Perhaps sir, you've got a reservation."

"Perhaps sir, you've got "Perhaps I haven't."

"What have you got."

"I beg your pardon. Are you being forward."

"Sir, I'm trying to be of assistance."

"Her Royal Huzzy the Queen."

"I beg your pardon, sir."

"I wish to be connected."

"Have you a prior connection."

"I beg your pardon."

"Sir, I mean are you expected."

"You're joking, she's not here, bell boy."

"I'm not joking. I'm not a bell boy. And are you expected sir."

"I am unexpected."

"Now please."

"I am a lamb's kidney. Several people have been now clouted into the tracks. If we keep hitting them there, there will finally be respect, courtesy and kindness for millionaires. Now get me a bottle of brandy and two glasses and we'll have a drink."

"I can't do that sir. This is not the bar."

"Do you want me to buy this hotel and reshuffle the staff. Now get that brandy. I'm going to take the heights tonight. Huge deployment of armour on both my flanks. Commandeer this reception desk. Gee, I feel champion."

"Now sir."

"Then take the balcony. Let the howitzers howl. Adjutant."

"Look mister, I don't know who you are."

"I know who you are. Adjutant. At nine you check the mail waiting feverishly for the first coffee break. Then rustle through the few blank papers and sneak away to the washroom for a cigarette."

"I certainly do not."

"Adjutant. Silence. Then you make a few personal phone calls before lunch. Get back in time for the afternoon coffee break. Make two erasures before five. Time for pot roast at the automat just round the corner. Then read a questionable book on the night shift which was found left in a room by the chambermaid."

"I never have."

"Attention. How dare you back chat a commanding officer."

"I'm not. I'm trying to be of assistance. Is it you want to be accommodated."

"I want the moral fibre of staffs everywhere to hold up under the strain of trying to seize opportunities for advancement."

"Sir, you mustn't shout."

"I want to reverse the decline. Rebound to boom. Land in a field of golden sneezeweed."

"Sir I don't have the faintest idea what you're talking about. I must hand over now to the manager."

"I asked for her royal high jinks. This dreadful up-creep of unhappiness. In the bag here I have enough toadstools of the green yellow and red variety with the purple dots to poison this evening's menu."

"Sir maybe you want an invalid requisite or something. Our manager is coming."

Smith rearing to attention. Appearance of a dark portly person. Hair sharply parted near the middle. Flat fat fingers, bubbling at the ends, drowning tiny fingernails. Both these hands spread before George Smith on the counter. And a little bow. Smith's visage chill and remote.

"Good eveningsir. Good to see you."

"Hello."

"Nice to see you again, sir."

"You've never seen me before."

"Ah but I have. The brandy is on its way. And you will be pleased to hear we have not just made it in the back room. Please be my guest."

"Well. I can see your ancestors did not come from a stock that would make one wonder."

"You are too kind, Mr. Smith. But I always try to feel important, handsome, well dressed. As you are this evening."

"You too are too kind."

"What shall we drink to Mr. Smith."

"Havoc."

"Ha ha. Of course. If you wish. But perhaps, a toast. Her Majesty. She is as you've no doubt heard, a permanent resident with us now. And we are extremely honoured."

"I'm relapsed. Heigh ho."

"In that case, Mr. Smith my vision is that this hotel will be a refuge. For a safe relapse. Ha ha, nice mix up with words. It's what we're trying to do here with comfort. Every distinction for the distinguished. A client asks for a drink at the reception desk. We have a drink at the reception desk."

"Good on you Mr."

"Park."

"Mr. Park. I've been sweating it out too long at my outpost. I'm enveloped by the enemy."

"A man as measured as you are, is a contribution to the community."

"Thank you major."

Four bell boys in their quiet grey uniforms. Gleaming brass buttons on tunics. Smith swaying, smiling. Mr. Park clapping hands. Bell boys snapping to attention.

"Take Mr. Smith to Her Majesty's suite eighteen B."

Platoon leading George Smith to the elevator doors. Stepping aside as Smith stepped in. Protocol has not packed up yet. I'll go if her nibs says get out. Shirl said I never offered to get my hands wet in the sink. She'll go into old age without me. Sitting in her empty nest. Small body in apron. Ladling out porridge in the bowls. Here is your daddy kids, shouting for justice and getting his just desserts instead. Your mother says sue. Stretch me out on the altar of the law. When in my heart I chirp.

Meet you

In apple green

July

Hiding

Arm's length

Under the

Uttermost tree.

We'll

Play

A pink

Piano.

Become

Each other's

Sadness.

Her Majesty stood at the door. Her arms open. Smith walked between them clutched up tightly to her breasts. Platoon retreating. Grumbling back into the elevator without a tip. Easy money corrupts. Hard to know how long one keeps gripped in greeting. Across the beige room curtains fluttering in an open terrace door.

"George can I make you some scrambled eggs."

Smith holding Her Majesty away from him. To sight her and see her blueish eyes in soft moist lids. Something unpardonable happening in my trousers. To the sound of her voice. Take her hand and put it there.

"George you rude thing after all.' 1

"Your Majesty squeeze it tightly. It needs comfort."

"George you haven't changed. Bold. Grey too. You are, you know. Kiss me."

Little parcel dropping from Smith's dark arm. Tightening around Her Majesty. One of her soft hands reaching to tug Smith's ear, the other to catch on a lobe of lower haunch and there impart a friendly fingering. North and far away. The Goose Goes Inn.

"Your Majesty you smell so good/'

"Whale sperm."

"Take off your clothes"

Her Majesty unfurled her sari. And kindly took her two breasts and put them in George Smith's hands. He said they weighed the same. Lights out Glow on the sky. All rainbow. Pots of gold everywhere.

"Dear George."

"It's me."

A few

Good old

Days

Are left.

GEORGE Smith taking his personal temperature which was chilly. The thin silver line showing just below the red mark for normal. Last night with Her Majesty. And this cool morning, hungover, mouth dry, head throbbing. A dream. Big fat woman in a green raincoat, really enormous, started beating me with her walking stick. Of all the blasted cheek I said, desist. Miss Tomson stood smiling by on a marble step between pillars and on her blue sweatered chest hung two little golden balls, one below the other, just as it should be and Smith she said, these are yours, I did some alchemy.

Sound of the opening door. A shuffle. Miss Martin wearing low heels. Said men with power were real men. Up against a lot of corporate bodies what was the use of struggling. We're plankton.

"Good morning, Miss Martin is that you."

"Yes."

Smith turning on his naked shoulder. Slippery surface of the horsehair sofa, now tucked up tightly to the partition. I fear out of caution for Miss Martin's rifle where a bead could be drawn if still asleep when she came. Also need that added bit of privacy which makes one's lot easier. Plus the convenience of the shelf near the wash basin for the regimen of these mornings. One dark tiny pill of the day's vitamins on one big white plate. Two oranges, oatmeal, cocoa and bottle of cod liver oil that Miss Martin buys out of the petty cash. Matilda has exhausted me in Merry Mansions.