J. Donleavy - A Singular Man

And Thursday near the botanical gardens and zoo I visited the hospital. Sat by the Bonniface bed. His hands seemed white and strange. And all round his face a look of lighthearted resign. I heard a rustle under the sheets. He put his finger up to his lips. Then he leaned over, whispered, woof woof, Mr. Mystery. Is here.

I waved goodbye to Bonniface. And his white bandaged head. Nurses smiled. Herbert left the oranges and liquorice by the bed and I said we would come and fetch him to the reception at Renown. Bonniface rubbing his hands together said it was in earnest anticipation he waited. And would brush his teeth specially in view of the menu. Her Majesty had brought him pussy willow out of season. And he was finishing the book about the body essence, interrupted by his plunge into the tracks. Things at the airport, without him, he said, were reptilian.

Sky all the darkest blue now. Whole day long and hungry in this forlorn room. Slowly tearing up letters, sheets and sheets of paper and documents. Legal loops, summons and twists and twirls from Shirl. Rip them up. One's hands so glad to tear them all to little pieces. Because yesterday. I walked away alone from Dynamo House. Nothing to protect me from the outside world. No appointments. No plans. I took a taxi to the Grand Central Station to make believe I was catching a train. Stood there in the emptiness looking up at the balcony where once I saw that head moving, tall, blond and collected above the rail. Christ, Miss T, why don't you come running for a train right now. And miss it. And meet me.

Miss T never came running. And from the station yesterday I walked along a marble hall, brass bannisters, up the steps and into the soft lights and carpets of the hotel nearby. Sat on the red leather curved seats under the gilded clock. Hands in lap. Must have looked the quietest man who ever lived. And two feet came up and stood in front of me. Small faint brown high heels. Exquisite, expensive. And before I reached the ankle bone. I knew who it was. Could hardly look up. No braveness. No courage. Until she said.

"You can look up George. I'm not going to be unfriendly."

"Hello, Shirl."

She sat down beside me. This dark meeting place under the clock. Put the back of my hands up to my eyes because I was going to cry. And I said, my dear chap. You can't. You better not. Because people will be looking. Caught like this, by ShirL Just as I was. Without friends. Laughter. Conversation. What was I doing here. Aren't you waiting for somebody. No one. And before it could happen. Anything at all. Shirl looked at me with her brown eyes. And said you look so tired George. Her hand reached up to touch me. Even though it never left her lap or the inside of her beautiful soft leather gloves. She never said, why don't you come home, George. Back to us. But she said, as she sat, with her shoulders and hair, and even the crossing of her legs. She said come back. I know, George, you can't come back. But I'm saying come back. In this little moment, while only two of us are in the world. George, you never give in, do you. Sit even in your worst terrible sorrow, all alone. George, what I want to say to you, even though I'm not saying it, that I don't care, I won't mind, I'll forgive even as I ought to be as cruel as you, I won't be, lay your head on my mother's bosom, I'll kiss it there, you foolish thing, you ran from me, and built up your hard stone castle to shut us out because I know there were just some simple little words I said in fury and hurt just to put a whip lash around your heart which had been flailing mine. And I said that. You foolish thing, because now I know. You do. You want so much for traffic to stop for you. When you're dead. I know you do.

In that hotel lobby. Dimly lit counters, blue soft carpets. Husbands, lovers and wives. Trains deeply below. Worming their way under us. The deepest deepest brown. Shirl's eyes. All the women one loves. And between the hearts, time seeps. To leave us strangest of strangers as she spoke.

"How have you been George. Really tell me. I want to tell you something. The law is not going to come between us. Do you hear what I'm saying. The law is not going to come between us. Even though I have to starve with the kids. Do you hear what I'm saying."

"Yes."

"And do you think I mean it."

"Yes."

All as simple as that. And we went for a drink. Then took her to her train. Bought her a newspaper. She stood on the train platform, looking out the glass door, her eyes glistening.

Faintest tick of the big desk watch hanging from a nail in the wall of 604. George Smith turning from the air-shaft window. Silence of this Saturday. Takes a minute to tear up a year of litigation. An hour to burn a century of it. What is that tapping. Four minutes past four. Stomach aches. Emptiness. A funny whisper. Tapping. Seems so real. Someone at the door. A knock. Is that someone in Miss Martin's room. Felt that whisper. Words breathed on the back of my neck. Is that Miss Tomson. Here. Yesh. Come back to work. Look and see. Smithy, I'm here, outside. Thought you'd like to hear from me. Where. Here. I know youVe got no one now, so I just thought I'd come back, wasn't doing anything this after* noon just four past four. Just some ice skating but I can do that anytime. So here I am. With a whole load of change for the petty cash. Tapping and ticking. There's no one here. Lift up my hand and put it in front of my face. Thumb and finger on the brows. I was talking to her. As she came back just then. Ice skates slung over her shoulder. Standing right there. In the doorway. I'm Sure I said gee. Word I never use. She was wearing a suit. Flat walking shoes. A tweed like winter heather. Thin string of pearls. Soft blue sweater to match her eyes. Could have put my arms around her. My head in the nape of her neck. Slight little shake she gives. My balls. In her hand. Whole world goes golden brown. When I said to her, God forgive, for all the women I made love me. Sure he will Smithy. He'll forgive you. He knows you've got no philosophy, no conscience. And you know, Smithy I don't care that you don't. I sort of like that. Look where my principles got me. I was robbed. What about tea. For two. Just past four.

George Smith turning back to the window. Arms were reaching out around nothing at all. Mirrored sky. Orange blue with evening. Little voice blew whispers was mine. My hands back on the window sill. Lick my lips.

Treasury Building clock. Tolling six. Smith walking out the long dark corridor from 604 and down the stairs. Briefcase swinging. Stick tapping. Sound of steps down, all so hollow, all so shut and Saturday. On the apron of Dynamo House. Looking up. Blue crisp sky. Faint new moon just in the crack there between the buildings. White crescent floating on a purple and gold flood of light. Herbert sees me. Waves. Get in the dreadnaught wearing a pair of black gleaming shoes again. My toes back to normal.

"To The Game Club Herbert."

"Any particular way, Mr. Smith."

"Let's go along die river. Looks a nice night."

Monstrous black vehicle slowly purring out of the empty street, along by the only sign of life. The Fish Market. Loading trucks. Big jackets of stevedores. Bumping tug boat.

"Like a little music, Mr. Smith."

"All right, Herbert. If you can find something soft."

In the windows of other cars. Get dead staring glances. A financial hero. No longer looking for worship. Or a splatter of lead bullets on this glass. Piers for ships pushing out on the flat water. Lights blink off across this deep tidal strait. Under the bridge that goes out to Bonniface and Miss Martin. Far Bollock, Fartbrook, points east. Whose mother jumped down my throat. Words say so little unless they're legal. Look at colors. Taste them all as candy. Bonniface likes liquorice so much. Left him that day. Herbert dropped me at the zoo, while he had a haircut. And I stood for a moment thinking beside a great bronze gate. Man ambled up in the crisp cold. Said what a rou6 you'd be back at the asylum.