J. Donleavy - A Singular Man

"You didn't see it."

"You're right. So right. I'm blind."

"What's your earning power."

"Mr. Smith I'm glad you asked me that question. Really, I am. It's just I don't want to damage our friendship by mentioning it with a figure right now. I could give you my job history."

"Shoot."

"Don't say that word. But listen. You're ruthless."

"I yam der yingle humperdink."

"What's that lingo. Why don't you talk. Could we do a deal I mean you could have the upper hand."

"No."

"You think I'm the human condition at its lowest."

"Yes."

"Can I pick up the telephone and call you sometime."

"No."

Sally Tomson across the room. Lifting her chin. A flat final line of her lips as she stepped from group to group. Four cars below. Handmade. Nudge me under the tennis balls, Sally. Kiss your flowering parts. World's so big. All in one room. High above the streets over a staggering stack of humanity sound asleep.

Ralph with his hair plastered down. Cruising elsewhere. Smith letting the great thoughts of the century float by. And Miss Martin shoots them down with her rifle. To let strange horrors come to mind. Standing here. Sally's brother shouting he screwed my sister. I'd take a bow. In front of all these spongy hearts. Time to leave. Step down into the rapid transit system forever. Get Herbert's coat. Collect Her Majesty.

"Smithy, you're not leaving."

"Yes."

Miss Tomson standing in front of Smith. Taking his elbow. Leading him backwards. Across the foyer. Staring in his eyes. As if a slap had landed on her face and she slumped, hanging to my lapels, looking up. Blue. Like the flag raised to the mainmast. Five minutes before sailing. As we float into a bedroom. All pink, couched and satiny. Deep silled window. Stars out there in the long night. Cold in heaven. And motor birds crossing the sky with a pencil ray of light pointing towards Bonniface cooped up with his trusty bottle in the mop closet. Alone with his secrets.

Behind a wall of sliding doors. Sally Tomson's clothes. Glass case of little gleaming square boxes just like the automat and in each, a pair of shoes, gleaming, precious, slippers, gold and silver. A table, two lotions, three waters, four perfumes. Fewer than I thought. Her face when it lay cupped in my hands. Her mouth open over her teeth in the tiniest most exquisite of smiles.

"Hey what is this Smithy you're going."

"Yes."

"O."

"It was marvellous."

"That isn't a word you'd ever use Smithy if you meant it."

"I do. I enjoyed myself."

"Stay."

"It's good to look at you, Sally. I like you."

"Smithy you're easily pleased by beautiful things. And we never even scratched each other like monkeys."

"When can I see you again."

"Come on, Smithy. You talk like you're never going to see me again."

"Can I see you again."

"Shit.Yesh."

"What's the matter."

"I don't know. But. Yesh. You can see me."

Miss Tomson, slender satin straps, holding lightly the fabric over her bosom. Soft swelling lines, the gentle nipples. Smiling and doubling up her fist, leaning back with a wink and slow motion and clipping Smith lightly on the jaw as he rolled with the punch.

"Nice moving, Smithy."

"Guess I'll get my coat."

"You could have been a fighter."

"I've taken instead to foil, epee, saber."

"There's so much I want to say, Smithy."

"Say it."

"There really is but no time."

"You won't miss my funeral. When the bullets blot me out."

"No no. You give them hell Smithy. Make your bark more scary than your bite. Then you avoid using the teeth too much. They won't get you."

"You're on my side."

"Yesh."

"Should we shake hands."

"Yesh."

"I like your bedroom."

"I stretch and yawn here every morning for three hours."

"Wish I was here."

"Smithy I know. I know."

"I do."

"Be patient. You line up with a woman don't you. And you never leave her. You might add more women. You never leave any of them."

"Save a page."

"Of what."

"Your appointment diary. It's there, by the phone. Put me in."

"Sure. What day do you want."

"Any day."

"Afternoons on Thursdays. I'm not kidding."

"I'm not either."

"Smithy, let's have the now. Although the past is nice to have around as well. I want to grab it right now."

"Grab it."

"Wow. I yam der yingle. Ralph said you said."

"Shake it goodbye. You humperdink."

"O gee. It's saying hello. It's shaking my hand."

"Sally, my God we're being watched."

"Whoops. Beat it Ralph."

"O yeah, sure."

Ralph, his back hiding a frown all over his face clicking the door closed behind these two lovers.

"Tell me, Smithy, is it true."

"What."

"About the machine you have installed. That claps and roars. Out of a loud speaker."

"Who told you that."

"I'm not telling. Does it really roar and cheer."

"Yes. At the end of a sentence."

"Why do you need it."

"When I'm lonely, sometimes, and feel powerless."

"O come on."

"Just nice to stand in my room in Dynamo. Switch it on, on a bereft Saturday afternoon. Has a seeing eye. Shake a fist. Thirty five thousand voices roaring. It says on the label."

"And if you let this out. And waved it. Flashed it to the machine."

"Yes. Roars and claps."

"I'll join that, Smithy, you know when I tried to phone you the last day or two. I had dreams about you. You were wearing pyjamas and spectacles and you stood at a window after opening these heavy metal shutters. And you know what you were holding. A pneumatic drill."

"I beg your pardon."

"I was a street girl walking in front of an opera house. You came out with the drill. I came up to you talking another language and wagging my ass. Followed you right by your shoulder, you didn't even look. Then I just stopped and watched a bunch of guys dressed in blue with big thick leather boots coming up out of a sewer in the road. They were saying hi to each other, like long lost friends. Some dream. A bellybuster. Don't go, now. Stay."

"I must."

"I keep leaving all my guests for you. Claude had to run out for a minute."

Smith's hand on Tomson's backside. Quiet light of her bedroom. A servants elevator up to this labyrinthine house of hers, touching the clouds. You sleep with a lot of men, said it was too much trouble to fight. Easier to let them in. Nearly kept me out. On an island surrounded by milk white water. See through the crack in your bathroom door, rozy marble and steps to a sunken bath. Feel poor. With a flick of your fingernail your world is so full of blue and gold. My bath stands on makeshift cast iron lion paws. And you step down into yours, like a beach with two tides a day. And all I have is a little rubber pillow to rest my head while I wallow. I need the cheering, roars of crowds. Once the machine went wrong, something slipped. Just as I was shouting Til win. And thirty five thousand voices went hee hee.

"Smithy will you ever put on diapers and baby's bonnet and go through the street blasting a trombone."

"Most certainly not."

"I like that. Say it again."

"Most certainly not."

"Come on stay for breakfast. Watch the sun come up. Right up over there it comes, red as anything."

Tomson leaning back against her bedroom wall, raises her slipper, scratches the back of her leg. Voice out there among her friends, says where's Sally. And toot toot down there on the river. Her back is shivering. Trembling. After our litde nuzzling. All without warning. She breaks in two. Precious. This flesh. One drop. A tear. Falls on my own black slipper, neatly between the bow. And what she is. As I held her head in darkness between my hands. Put my fingers around her throat. She didn't take them away. As Shirl always gently did. But left them there for me to kill her if I liked. To trust. Calms the nerves. Her death under my hands, a strange beauty.