J. Donleavy - Schultz

“What. With all the blows landing on me already.”

“But hasn’t there been a nice muscular blond lady with her chastisement case knocking on your door. Haven’t you let her in. She gives the most marvellous lessons in deportment.”

“Why you dirty son of a bitch, Binky. It’s you who’s been sending that kraut around.”

“Ah Schultz, ha, ha, yes. I thought it would serve as a little mortification for you in view of some of the shoddier treatment ladies have received at your hands.”

“Shit why don’t you take some mortification.”

“Ah but I have, marrying as I have one of these higher ups in the aristocracy. They do have a way of making one feel lower down. Even when I suggested one of my just slightly deviate filthier frolics to my spouse, I was told, go do that sort of thing with your fille de joie in Soho. I acquiesce of course in such dilemmas. But my dear little creature of such a delicate constitution, with her belly quite popped out now, has suffered much morning sickness. Our setting up house has been rather a hectic time. Difficult getting staff. Had to take on an Irish butler who while he demonstrated to me his expertise in disemboweling a chicken in the kitchen was, while flicking parts of the entrails about, also sending particles of guts landing in the cream jug to be used for that night’s pudding. Most discomforting. Do Schultz have another gateaux.”

“Holy christ your butler I hope has never worked in Fortnum’s.”

“To be sure Schultz, he hasn’t. He claims however to have held quite grand posts in various Irish midland situations. Ah but then, our brand new cook who wasn’t at all bad at baking cakes, had to be dismissed. Secreting rashers of bacon as she was from our larders and shoving them out through the bars of our cellar windows. Plus all other sorts of nice tasting things. Her boyfriend waiting on a motorbike fitted with the appropriate receptacle alongside our house to roar off with them. My dear wife’s old nanny who had witnessed the thefts has now been put to cooking as best she can.”

“Christ you can replace groceries. Don’t lose a good cook.”

“Good point. Yes very high marks you get for that observation Schultz. But you don’t understand. Lurking in the psyche of the British upper classes is a strong desire to discipline the lower classes. Plus the barren feeling of unhappiness it gives one as a member of the increasingly apologetic lower middle aristocratic class, to think there she is, one’s cook on her day off, with her boyfriend in a Pimlico maisonette sizzling one’s bacon for their own Sunday morning nourishment while we, the dispossessed, stare at our empty plates. Dear me servants these days do have it all their own way don’t they. But Schultz do have another spot of tea, there is worse to tell I fear.”

“Shit, I must say Binky sitting here like this listening to your marvellous troubles for a change, is a moment of fucking bliss.”

“Ah that word bliss. With or without the fucking, is often applied to honeymoons isn’t it. And on mine Schultz, secreted away in an inn by a waterfall up a valley all belonging to my father in law, I had that first night, a most erotic dream about the Sovereign. Whose beauty has, I must confess, always managed to arouse the beast in me. Had me turning and tossing in bed the entire night. My little women notwithstanding. I woke acutely embarrassed, being as I was in the dream trying to storm the gates of the palace. And as I was entirely nude I was being quite properly repulsed by guardsmen. However as a former captain in the Grenadiers I barked out a few parade ground commands which made the chaps in my nightmare quite sympathetic to my temporary insanity. O but dear me there I was newlywed, sitting up in bed under this ancient beamed ceiling, shouting out rifle drill. Little flecks of foam at the corner of my lips and my dear little one frozen in fear and trying to keep me from toppling from our bridal couch. It was all quite nearly as bad as my arrest when I had once on an undergraduate dare, strolled naked with my bowler and brolly under the sky lighted pink ceilinged roof of the Burlington Arcade over there in Piccadilly.”

“Jesus Binky why weren’t you with your genius at bullshitting, a fucking actor.”

“Of course upon occasion I do fuck. But as to being an actor, alas my shyness Schultz, my shyness. But do let me relate an even more woeful and recent event which befell me. Which of course you may think entirely unremarkable. Ah, you are, aren’t you Schultz, enjoying your tea.”

“Binky it’s a life saving ceremony you English have invented.”

“And note Schultz how appropriately it has begun to rain outside. Pitter patter of drops striking the window. But now I must tell you. How my view of the citizens of London has wretchedly changed. Having taken up residence in my old grandad’s town house to begin practice of my marriage vows. I spent many hours overseeing certain exterior improvements to grandpapa’s paint peeled victorian pile so that neighbors might feel we were doing our little bit in keeping up appearances. And I must confess I was feeling quite proud of my handiwork. When suddenly on a quiet sunny Saturday my engagement book blank, I remained snugly ensconced at home. My new little wife pottering off to look for her little bargains in baby clothes in an area of Bayswater to which, I admit openly, I am not attracted. Having breakfasted morning long over the newspapers and had a nice further nap plus the enjoyment of a self administered bed chamber diversion, I then, upon completing my ablutions, found myself facing the pleasantly empty afternoon with the household staff departed. I happily descended downstairs and throughout the early afternoon played Chopin with shutters closed and curtains drawn in a candlelit and incense perfumed music room. And well you know how one does, Schultz, get a sudden feeling, if not a desperate need, to go out of doors. I thought dash it all, with the seemliness of the weather, I would have tea in the garden. So with a mildly sheepish guilt over my solitary selfish indulgence, I flurried about as one does trying to make the setting reasonably comfy for myself. Ah you smile Schultz. Well damn it, I do confess to obtaining a certain spiritual nourishment from an agreeable milieu. Despite the dearth of London garden bird life, sparing as some naughty cats may have made it. So with a cushion for my chair, my granny’s best silver, I deposited a cake table centre. One of those gateaux which as yet uncut looks so nice just sitting there. Well, dear me, all was in readiness. My lemon neatly sliced. A suitable scandalous news item in the paper selected to peruse. And back I went into the house to pour the kettle in granny’s tea pot. And when I returned. My cake, Schultz, was gone. I looked here, I looked there, I looked everywhere. Well I just couldn’t believe it. This most awful ill fortune. Then suddenly I saw. Just over the wall. The neighbors’ wretched dog licking its cream flecked chops. Having totally devoured it. Well I don’t need to tell you I was more than somewhat annoyed Schultz. I thought damn it. I want some satisfaction. I promptly popped out to the street and rang their front bell. After waiting two of the most irritating minutes of my life, their cook answered. I said, your dog ate my cake. Well she looked at me in a tone and manner as if I were something the cat dragged in. I nearly stamped my foot. Indeed in fact I did. And repeated my demand for some satisfaction. Well off the creature went. Presumably to her employer. She was gone another highly irritating three minutes. And when she came back she handed me two shillings. I mean Schultz I was thunderstruck. Two shillings. The wretched cake had cost at least something like twelve shillings at Harrods. I looked at her incredulously. She was about to shut the door. I said it was a brand new cake. Indeed a marvellous cake. Two layers thick with jam filling and with three cherries on top. Well do you know she went away again. This time for an exasperating four minutes. And she came back and handed me a further coin. A threepenny bit. She then closed the door in my face. Standing there Schultz, those cold clammy coins in my hot little disappointed hand, I realised that something had changed most grievously in our English way of life.”