J. Donleavy - Schultz

The taxi cruising past the ambulance entrance of St. George’s Hospital down Grosvenor Crescent. Into Belgrave Square. The cream painted facades. The always shrouded secret park in the middle. Down my nice private quiet street. Lights all lit in all the windows of the Ambassador’s house. He’s about the only friend I’ve got in London.

“There are you Squire, Harley Street to Belgravia.”

“Thanks. Keep the change.”

“Thank you sir. And enjoy your stay in Britain.”

Schultz looking up at his splintered front door as he pushed open the squealing gate in the railings to the steps down to the basement. In the cold kitchen, sticking a knife in a jar of peanut butter. Suck a big glob of the stuff off the blade. Take a spoonful of strawberry jam. Gnaw on a piece of stale bread. Sustain me till I see what new shit is going to hit the fan. Climb up the stairs. Peek in the pantry. And wince into the library. The front door propped closed with the hall table stacked with wet books. Everything is worse than I thought. Jesus the end of the world can come hidden away in your own life.

On the hall table, atop the soaked books, two envelopes. Hand delivered and shoved down from the letter box. Schultz with his finger ripping one open.

Chary, Leer, Unkanny

Mumchance & Nightingale.

Dear Sir,

Upon certain newspaper reports having come to the attention of our clients Mr. & Mrs. Adams Apple-Apple, they did upon our advice instruct their surveyor, Mr. Johns, to inspect the property of No. 4 Arabesque Street in your absence, which is permitted under the lease which lease we hold no longer valid.

Mr. Johns’ report is now in our hands. The general condition he described the house to be in, is to say the least, entirely deplorable. Extensive damage has not only been done to the valuable contents but to the fabric of the building. Walls everywhere are fingerprinted and marked and smudged as if items of food were flung about the premises. Indeed a piece of Gorgonzola cheese was found adhering to a signed and dated eighteenth century painting “Hounds Taking the Scent.” And the valuable plaster work on the ceilings of the bathroom and library have been entirely destroyed.

The disappearance has also been noted of the fourteenth century bust of Justinian, from the landing. In this latter matter we would be glad to have your immediate check in the amount of fourteen thousand pounds being the assessed value of the piece. As soon as builders’ estimates are in our hands we will advise you of the final amount required to cover other damage. Meanwhile your early check in the amount of ten thousand pounds as part payment is required forthwith.

Aside from the clear evidence of moral turpitude expressly forbidden in the lease, and in other extraordinary circumstances prevailing and in order to preserve that more damage does not take place and, without prejudice to any other remedy we may have in the matter, we are instructed by our clients to hereby serve notice upon you to vacate the premises of No. 4 Arabesque Street, Belgravia within seven days or legal proceedings will be taken against you so to do.

Yours faithfully,

Chary, Leer, Unkanny

Mumchance & Nightingale

P.S. As a personal note from a senior member of this firm, I should like to make the point that this is not what one would expect from a citizen of that country which came to fight beside us so gallantly following our winning single handedly the battle of Britain.

Schultz holding the letter up shaking it. You dirty bunch of British tight assed fuckers just let me give you a fucking point or two. In the first place that bust of Justinian was unadulterated plaster and a piece of lousy cheap junk. In the second place the bathroom faucets all exploded leaking till I got a wrench myself to twist the fucking things shut. In the third place the place was practically a sewer when I moved in. In the fourth place all my fucking problems are caused by women. In the fifth place none of you are going to get a red cent out of me.

Schultz leaning against the wall, momentarily relaxing from his shouting match with the physically unrepresented firm of Chary, Leer etcetera. Taxi diesel engines throbbing by in the street. Schultz’s finger slowly ripping open the second envelope. With the same black heavily engraved letterhead. Jesus christ at least no one can accuse me I’m handicapped by my optimism at this fucking time of my life. They’ve added a really appropriate new partner’s name since their previous letter two minutes ago.

Chary, Leer, Unkanny

Mumchance, Voyeur &

Nightingale

Dear Sir,

We are instructed by Mr. Al Duke and Miss Pricilla Prune to act upon another matter separate from the one concerning clients from whom you have leased No. 4 Arabesque Street.

In court proceedings this morning you pleaded guilty to assaulting our clients. Who as a result of such assault were both treated for abrasions and contusions. Miss Prune, who now requires extensive dental work having lost and swallowed her tooth as a consequence of being struck by your fist, also suffered severe bruising to her chest area and will be unable to work for some considerable time. She must also due to dental damage eat slops.

Mr. Duke who so bravely defended the honor of Miss Prune, had to have administered prolonged medication to stop the persistent bleeding of his nose. The clothes he was wearing as were those of Miss Prune were stained with blood and cannot be worn again.

Mr. Duke however, has agreed to waive his right to any damages subject to your fully compensating Miss Prune who had a brand new dress of hers scorched irreparably through your having kicked it up on top of a lamp bulb. We would be glad to have your immediate check in the amount of six hundred and forty nine pounds and ten shillings to cover the above as well as our own out of pocket expenses, otherwise we are instructed to issue proceedings against you for this amount and hold you liable for all costs in so doing.

Yours faithfully,

Chary, Leer, Unkanny

Mumchance, Voyeur &

Nightingale

P.S. As a senior partner of this firm, one hopes that your unchivalrous treatment of a lady will reach the attention of the Home Office and the appropriate action ensue.

“You fucking sons of bitches I’ll give you something to sue about.”

Schultz sailing his right foot into a hall chair. Kicking the brocaded seat upwards out of its frame. His left foot sailing through the presently knee high lamp shade on top of which Pricilla’s dress scorched. Tearing down a painting from the wall and sending another foot through into the infinities of its rural scene. Schultz as his Lordship would say, was in an excitable state. And foot kicking crazy. As well as foot kicking mad. Till hearing a voice. And fingers widening an aperture in the splintered door.

“Ah let me give you a hand in there me boyo, that’s no way now to wreck a house. You’d be hours doing it. Here let me show you now how that’s done. As soon as I break me way in.”

“Jesus Magillacurdy the door’s blocked, go downstairs for christ’s sake. Don’t do nothing. I’m a ruined enough man as it is.”

“Nonsense. Nonsense. Sure what kind of dissident black bile talk is that to oppress the breast. When there are pints of the finest to be drunk off hundreds of mahogany bars all over London. And women to be downed with them. Ruined. Never. Redeemed is more like it.”

Magillacurdy skipping sideways in through the basement kitchen door. To stand there on the flagstones a benign loving smile across his face.

“Ah now me boyo. I came to apologise I have. For causing you all your trouble. But didn’t we hit the headlines with a bang, though.”

“We hit them alright Magillacurdy. You’re a publicist par excellence.”