J. Donleavy - Schultz

“I am.”

“That’s great. So why don’t you bring her up the aisle, feed, clothe and house her. Like recently she’s talking about palaces.”

“Because she’s just that little bit too young yet to have the necessary insight to know that somebody mellow and mature like me, with my beautiful mind, wit, sensibility, love of life, and who doesn’t want to hurt people, is right for her at my older age.”

“Who doesn’t want to hurt people, Al. You were around here attempting grievous bodily harm in this hall.”

“For her I’d kill.”

“Jesus Al. You’re having a geriatric breakdown.”

“All it is, wise guy is I can’t give her as much of my future as she can give me of hers.”

“So in the prime of my youth you want to stick me with her with the thousands of gorgeous girls around I haven’t fucked yet. Thanks a lot Al.”

“Hey by the way shouldn’t you go upstairs and see if she’s all right.”

“No Al I shouldn’t. But just think a second how long it took you to ask that question.”

“Jesus wise guy you got a lot to answer for you have.”

“That’s right. But I’ll tell you why Al I don’t go upstairs if you’d shut up sermonizing me for just one second. So are you listening.”

“Yeah for one second.”

“The reason I don’t go upstairs to see if she’s all right is because she is wrapped up in a towel or maybe my dressing gown and is hanging her tits and ears over the bannister at this very moment listening to every fucking word I’m saying on this phone. That’s why.”

“I don’t know what to say to you. I should hang up. I just don’t know what to say.”

“And Al as soon as I hang up she will rush back into the bathroom, take off the towel and dressing gown, lay herself back into the bath, drape her beautiful tits over the side of the tub and make like she’s fucking unconscious again.”

“Jesus I really am dumbfounded and speechless. I don’t know what to say to you.”

“I’ll tell you what to say Al. Just say that good old Sigmund Franz Schultz knows what he’s talking about for a change. That he’s seen plenty of women in his time. And that he knows what they want.”

“O.K. Rabbi Schultz. Lecture me. What do they want.”

“They want everything Al. Everything. A guy’s guts, his balls, his prick, his money, his life insurance. But more than just that they want his imprisoned proximity. To make sure he doesn’t have the juice left to fuck anyone else when they’re finished with him. And you know what I want Al. You there Al.”

“I’m here. And Jesus christ it’s a disgrace. That an American, a fellow American should end up talking talk like this. When was the last time you pledged allegiance to the American flag.”

“I’d talk like this if I was a fucking Eskimo Al. Pledging allegiance to the north pole.”

“You tell me then mister snowman. What do you want for a wife.”

“I want a woman like my mother. You hear me. My mother.”

“I heard you. The first respectable thing you said so far.”

“You know why Al. Because she would nag me to eat the good soup she made. She would sew my clothes. Iron my shirts. She would rock me to sleep. Whisper comfort to me in pain and disappointment.”

“This is some kind of inverted incest you’re talking about. That’s what I think.”

“That’s right Al. I’d fuck my own mother. You got me figured to a T.”

“You would wouldn’t you if you thought it would get you somewhere.”

“No Al. Not because I think it would get me somewhere. Because I would be giving her back the love she gave me. Which has smothered me.”

“You lurid motherfucker.”

“Go back Al to Ohio.”

“Don’t slander me please. I’m from Michigan.”

“That figures. You’ve got just the right kind of morals. And Al let me criticize your life for a second. With your heart condition who’s fucked more different women than you. Who’s kicked some out of his house.”

“That’s bullshit.”

“Four girls. This year alone.”

“There were five. But who’s counting.”

“And you go around clucking like some pious romantic old mother hen. And over a bitch who’s opened her white thighs for the biggest black prick in darkest Africa.”

“Stop Sigmund stop. For Christ’s sakes. This is a serious call I’m making back to you. How long have we known each other. Five years. I’ve remained a friend through each of your flops. Right. Come on. What are you doing tonight.”

“I’m fucking trying to compose my wits and mentality for the busy day I face tomorrow to avoid another fucking flop.”

“So O.K. let me take you two young kids out to dinner. A nice little nosh at the Savoy. How about that. Beluga. All the trimmings.”

“I feel I’m getting trapped Al. No shit. I really feel that. That this is some kind of plan. You got stuck in your brain. You love her. I don’t.”

“Why did you do what you did to her then.”

“Do what Al. I didn’t do anything to her Al which I wouldn’t do to any other gorgeous creature. I can’t resist beautiful women Al. That’s all.”

“So you’re different from any other guy in the world.”

“That’s right. Because unless you change them every five weeks beautiful women are nothing but a pain in the ass.”

“Sigmund. O.K. I accept. You’re just mister cynic. But the Savoy, O.K. In an hour.”

“I ain’t even unpacked Al.”

“So unpack. Get rid of this paranoia out of your life.”

“Let me tell you Al. I just got rid of it. After one of the most blissful few days I’ve ever spent. I don’t want any more hassle. I got enough with the production.”

“Hey how is the production.”

“The production is swell.”

“Good I’m glad to hear it, Sigmund I really am. So come on. A little nosh at the Savoy. If I don’t bring you two kids together at least you can be friends. Besides this is my birthday.”

“Holy shit Al, why didn’t you tell me in the beginning.”

“I’m shy. Besides who wants to go counting years.”

“Happy eightieth birthday. I’ll bring you a few nice red roses. Like a railway car full. Hey wait a second while I run up and see if the subject matter is still there.”

Schultz pulling back and forth on his polka dot tie in marvellous anticipation, tiptoeing back up the stairs. At the half closed bathroom door. Pushing it slowly open. Shit if I could only just catch her getting herself back into her coma position. There’s the corner of the tub. Just push a little more. Get a good gander at the long curvaceous spine from the end of which hangs that marvellous ass. Just peek in. Jesus where is she.

“Hey honey. Holy shit.”

The deluge of cold liquid fresh out of a bucket hit Schultz full in the face. Just as he stepped around the door.

“You scum talk about me like that.”

“Jesus hold it you wildcat what am I blinded with.”

Schultz grabbing in all directions for a towel. Feeling the wind of something sail past his ear. Wiping his eyes to see. A soap dish. Duck. Get out of the way. And the fucking cover hits me in the head. Followed by her nails. Sinking in. And christ, stinging down my face over my just healed scars. Toes of her slippers kicking my shins. Welcome back from the peaceful countryside. Into a hurricane.

“I’ll kill you.”

“You insane bitch. That’s what you’re doing, stop.”

Schultz turned. And ran. Along the hall towards his bedroom door. Pricilla grabbing the polka dot tie flying over his shoulder. Like a lassoed calf Schultz’s head jerked back nearly off his neck. The world going, going, gone black. A dim light. Somewhere. At the end of a damp long passage. Running miles. Through catacombs. Skulls and bones. My violin teacher. The butcher round the corner. Watched him every afternoon. Charlie. Cutting through his meat. His bald head bent. In my own romantic youth. Hovering over me. Slapping my face. Jesus. Where am I.