Leila: Further in the Life and Destinies of Darcy Dancer, Gentleman

14

Hobbling to the shutters, in the dawn. Awakened by the sound of hoofs pounding out up the drive. The tips of one’s toes frozen. One’s senses smashed to smithereens this long night. To look down into the darkness and see the shadow of the Mental Marquis of Farranistic, insatiable man, aloft again flying on his poor horse, who will surely be dead before he gets half a parish away. And upon once more stretching out under my double layer of eiderdowns and passing into blissful unconsciousness one was awakened again at dawn. Out of a dream. And witnessing in awe, hoofs lashing, teeth snapping, as Midnight Shadow’s shaft shoved deep up Petunia’s quarters. A warm hand pressing hard on my cold arm to still my thrashing about. Stare up into these eyes. So pleasantly reassuring. Of Miss von B. In a tweed suit. Her bowler on top of her bag parked at the door.

‘I am saying goodbye.’

‘O please, you must not go.’

‘Why not. I already wait for you. You do not even come to see me, the whole night. I am of course much miffed. In a freezing cold room. I am awake. Horses galloping around the house.’

‘The Mental Marquis, madam, who takes to the saddle in his sleep I think. And observing protocol, one could not depart while he was in the middle of his stories.’

‘Mein Gott. And also too, there is much noise and shouting and running.’

‘Crooks hung himself.’

‘Grosser Gott.’

‘In his intoxicated attempt, he did of course bungle it. But Madam please. Don’t go. Nor make me plead with song, mirth, dance and gyration to make you stay. I’m far too fragile.’

‘I have responsibilities. I work.’

‘Then you too need calming redeeming sustenance. Please my pretty princess. Get with me cosy in bed.’

‘I should be angry with you.’

‘Ah Madam please don’t be. Nor distress a poor exhausted farmer at this ungodly time of the morning. Be a good lady, and shut up. Strip off. And do in the interests of love, lay your good body by me I beg. Also lock the doors.’

‘Ah who is the exhausted little farmer boy. Maybe who is not so exhausted.’

Miss von B, her sad face in the faint light, big baleful eyes hesitating. She sits so solemn on the edge of the bed. Strong fingers asplay on her skirt. Her shiny pale pink nails so neatly manicured. On her strong slender tapering fingers. Of those hands which can so gently touch. O god, will she get up. Go lock the doors. Please do, dear lady. On this day when a whole countryside will be alive with whispers. Of our embrace in the wet of a winter meadow. Nor can one take much comfort from Sexton’s oft repeated remark. Liars, of course they’re liars, Master Darcy, sure they’re descended from liars, related to liars and lie to other liars, but by god when there’s a scandalous rumour going the rounds you can bet on it that it’s the gospel truth and that’s a fact. Ah Miss von B. Removes her clothes so elegantly. Folding each garment. Laying them neatly upon the chair. Stepping out of her furry boots. She is really quite youthful. What pleasure to see such strappingly robust reliable thighs. What long dependable work one could get out of her. If one ended up without a pot to piss in. Or all the servants in this house hung themselves.

‘Ah it is so good to see your splendid form again. And to warm my hands on your genial bosoms. So good to stick my chill knees between your thighs. So good to plunge my cold feet between your ankles. Ah this close clasped soothing warmth of you.’

‘I am not just a hot water bottle in the mattress for you.’

‘O no Madam, you are not, you are much, much more. But I cannot refrain from asking. Who was he.’

‘Who was who mister chilly boy.’

‘I must know. On moral principles. Before I can allow the passionate juices of our bodies to again unite.’

‘What. You utterly impossible little pup. Such heights of stupidity you reach.’

‘Who was he. That man with whom you sat to dinner in the Royal Hibernian Hotel. You put your hand on his.’

‘I do not even know what or who you are talking about. Now you have too much of the covers. I am cold.’

‘You sat adoring him. He had long flowing grey hair. And he bent to kiss your hand.’

‘There is much long flowing grey hair of gentlemen in Dublin. And at least more than a few who kiss occasionally the hands of ladies.’

‘And he looked like an aristocrat.’

‘Grosser Gott. That subject again. You are not jealous of me. You are jealous because you, bog trotter, think someone else is better socially than you are.’

‘That is positively, arrantly and totally untrue.’

‘Well I have sat with many in the Hibernian Hotel and who have long flowing grey hair. Please. I was beginning to enjoying here with you. Now I am not enjoying here with you. And now I am freezing. My feet are out.’

‘And I am not jealous. Nor care the least damn about anyone. But we may never have in this cosy household another peaceful moment like this together.’

‘Ah how dramatic you still are, my little poppet.’

‘And you Madam. You are distressing me. You can be immoral.’

‘Mein Gott. What immoral. You silly boy. About what immoral. There is anyway no such thing.’

‘Are you still in love with that man.’

‘My private life is not for you to know.’

‘Certainly if you so prefer, I shan’t inquire further. And I shall stay this side of the bed. But you must have some morals. I think it would be most inconvenient for your soul, Madam, if you do not.’

‘But how stupid. Of course of women you expect that they have morals. But men, they need not. What woman for two seconds could afford such luxury of morals. When it take one second for a man to be immoral. That is not what you want to hear. Is it.’

‘Well Madam, your English appears quite grammatically effective. But no. Perhaps that is not what I want to hear. But I think that women are capable of giving gentlemen damn shabby treatment, like pushing them into ponds, abandoning them on trains, conducting affairs behind their backs, taking their money, and even trying to kill them off. And then writing it all down in a book. Perhaps to gloat over the profits from publication or at least to amuse themselves with in their old age.’

‘This is now, bog trotter, your opinion of women, eh.’

‘It is quite.’

‘And so what do you want or expect me to say. To such Irish idiocy.’

‘What I want you to say is that perhaps you will come back again to this house. To live with me. As my officially recognized mistress. As you are with me in my bed now. Of course one shall be discreet, no one shall know you are my mistress.’

‘Who do you think you are.’

‘I think I am who I am. Madam.’

‘I should be your mistress. Official. But no one should know. Ha. Don’t make me laugh. So that we lie together mister silly boy and have no morals.’

‘I intend that we shall have morals. I think that’s how I should like it.’

‘You should like it huh.’

‘You will be faithful to me. In both body and spirit.’

‘And you, my Knabe. What will you do.’

‘I have not yet perhaps become, because of a lack of foreign travel, a true man of the world. And I think that should be top of my priorities, so to speak. But I shall occasionally soon disport myself. At my London club. And you could do much worse than living here.’

‘London now is it.’

‘Yes as a matter of fact.’

‘And me. What would I do.’

‘You. would regard me as being with you when I am not here and behave accordingly. Soon the electricity will be reaching us. And soon there will even be a telephone. And we shall occasionally travel abroad to Paris and stay in a suitable hotel.’

‘So in addition to the electrocution there is Paris now too. I suppose at the Crillon, the Meurice or zee Ritz. Ah it is so romantic to listen to you.’

‘You are, aren’t you being uncommonly cynical. But yes Paris too. It has I believe one or two suitably wide boulevards for constitutionals where le grand monde display their haughtiness.’

‘Ah that would suit you. I suppose. In top hat. Zee silver knobbed cane rap tap tap upon zee pavement.’

‘Yes, as a matter of fact. I damn well intend to cut a figure.’

‘Ah to be among your betters. But it would not be le grand monde, my sweetie but distinctly the demi monde, whom you would be among.’

‘I abhor letting irritation get the better of me. But at this precise time I should be most pleased if you would dear lady please go and do fuck a duck.’

‘Ah duck fucking. That would be immoral.’

‘You are being inordinately most tiresome.’

‘Ah I am so sorry. Please what else. Tell me. I promise to listen.’

‘Well we shall go to the races at Chantilly. And I may indeed race there myself you know. I shall have by then bred up the fastest horses upon the face of the earth. Meanwhile you will enjoy the privileges of residing in a stately house with servants at your disposal.’

‘What a wonderful future. How gay. How exciting. Out in the bog. Servants. Stately house. Ha. Dust and dirt, rats and mice. Leaks and mildew. Chill and damp. Dat’s what’s at my disposal. And you breed racehorses eh. Ah dat’s good.’

‘Is that all you have to say.’

‘Ya dat’s all. But you should not stop. You should tell me more. And who is that dark beauty on zee staff who breaks things in the hall.’

‘I’d prefer not to discuss members of the staff for the moment if you don’t mind. But if you didn’t know Madam, I am now telling you. That I have some considerable acres of the best limestone land in the world. If you did ever trouble to take a look in any good encyclopaedia. It is just that I have with this place at this time quite a number of worries. And I know next time, completely by accident of course, Crooks in fact is going to succeed in hanging himself. I shall then be short of a butler. However, it’s been a miserably long time since he has properly officiated as one.’

‘But why, should one butler more or less be a worry.’

‘Well for a start, undressing him last night after the hanging, he was wearing ladies’ bright pink underwear. I think that in itself bespeaks present curiosities to be contended with and most certainly bodes uncertainty as to his behaviour for the future.’

‘Oooo la la, we have afoot how does one say zee wolf in sheep’s pink pantaloon.’

‘One does not say anything Madam. And not that I want to flatter you unduly. But you were you know, rather wonderfully marvellous as a housekeeper. Everything shining, polished, folded. I did so enjoy my breakfast then. The neat way the cupboards were kept. Provisions stored. My socks darned, the laundry done. Floors so clean. Furniture so gleaming. Ouch Madam. What did you slap me for.’

‘You did want me to slap your face don’t you for such impertinent ungallantry. I should like to hear such things said when I am not naked in the bed. Out of which you I should push. I will.’

‘Please Madam bloody well don’t Stop. Please.’

‘Because you like how I housekeep huh. And become your servant again huh. On your arse you go you little silly boy.’

‘Please. Stop bloody pushing. Bloody ruddy hell. Good heavens. Damn women anyway.’

Darcy Dancer crashing out of the bed arse first on the floor. A beast mooing beyond somewhere under the winter sky. The cold damp wool pile of the carpet barely a cushion against the hard boards. One’s erection so conspicuous. And now the door knob of one’s mother’s ablution room, turning, and the door opening. An aroma of reasty unwashed long worn socks filling the air. Good god. The face of the Dublin Poet peering around the door. A bottle of whisky in one hand. A sheepish utterly stupid look upon his countenance.

‘Ah I thought I heard a noise.’

‘Would you mind, please. You’re trespassing. Please get out of here and out of the room you’ve just come from.’

‘O I’m sorry for my inconvenience. Rashers Ronald said you were in need of some spoken verse.’

‘And you’ll be in need of a new set of teeth, eyes and ears if you don’t get out of here and this house this instant.’

‘Right you are your eminence. But I can see there you’re busy enough already. Very sorry to have troubled you in the least.’

Door quietly closing. Feet tiptoeing away. And now heavier ones approaching pounding down the hall. And the tinkle of dishes. And knock on the door.

‘Sir it would be your breakfast sir. The door is locked.’

‘Leave it outside the door, please, Mollie.’

‘I am wanting a word with you sir of a serious nature.’

‘Well please come back later, Mollie.’

‘It is this very moment urgent sir.’

‘What. Please. Is so urgent.’

‘Sir, the silverware, half of it is gone.’

‘Thank you for the information, Mollie. Just leave the tray.’

Along with the silverware, listen to the footfalls disappear.

Uninvited guests breakfasting on one’s whisky, walking into one’s bedroom. One would find more peace in the lobby of the Hibernian.

‘Damn hell, Madam. That’s what I mean about this household. And you Madam. Listen. Please. I was also going to say before you and that apparition rudely interrupted. That I adore your legs. And the firm yet lean muscles of your thighs. And now please, let me back into bed.’

‘And all I am now is legs. Thighs. Muscles.’

‘No you are much more than that, honestly. You sometimes have an attractive mind as well.’

‘Sometimes huh.’

‘No oft times in fact. Now just let me peacefully slide in. I’m desperately in need of warmth and rest. Really I am. Kept up as I’ve been nearly the whole night. Ah the feel of them. Your marvellous marvellous quarters. Like a large variety of grape indeed.’

‘Ja wohl, indeed.’

‘Ja wohl. That one might want to sink one’s teeth into Madam. Or merely squeeze by hand. And your lean slender waist. And your so wonderful richly creamy pink budded breasts like spring primroses.’

‘Of course we are without zee primroses in the middle of winter, but that what you say is perhaps an improvement for my ear. I am not like a good quality brood mare, perhaps. To breed up your winners.’

‘Madam. Ah Madam, why not. Of course you are. Together we can as well as good colts and fillies breed up a great dynasty. Not only of horses but of little Darcy Dancers.’

‘What. When I am far older than you.’

‘But O Madam. I have missed you, you know. I have. Other ladies simply do not possess your elegance. Even though it’s true I suppose, you really are nearly old enough to be my mother.’

‘You want I slap you again.’

‘But Madam our ages need not matter. It is how we can be helpful to one another. Isn’t it that’s how there is love, that it comes into being because of these mutually useful performances of chores. And it makes not a scrap of difference your getting the least little bit long in the tooth. Be a good little lady now and fetch in my breakfast tray. Why don’t you say something madam, why are you being so quiet.’

Tooth, breakfast, Mein Gott. And whose tooth is long.’

‘Well perhaps I must wait till there is a little more light to have a look. Perhaps I am mistaken. But no need to get flustered and angry Madam.’

‘No fluster. I am not.’

‘Well your English is getting suddenly ungrammatical. And please, you must let me finish.’

‘You finish while you are telling me to serve you breakfast and perhaps with my long teeth I am finished. Yes.’

‘No no no, Madam. For god’s sake. You do bloody well misconstrue. I just hate leaving a tray out there for someone to trip over. O god. Hear that. Exactly as has happened. And I mean you have, even though you are approaching middle age, such fine bags on you. That one would expect of a pedigree cow. A pair of the prettiest udders in the parish. Of a sort which promises a long, copious and dependable milk yield. These are the things which matter Madam. O god, what now have I said to make you go all rigid and silent again. What I am trying to tell you is, the important thing is that with the lineage you claim. Plus.’

‘I am some cow you would like in your herd to milk. And claim. What do you mean claim. It is bog trotters like you who claim. I do not claim.’

‘I see you have definitely taken to the continued unfortunate use of that term bog trotter in your vocabulary. And it does not Madam, help in the improvement of your English. Please. Get the tray. There’s a good sweet wonderful girl now.’

Miss von B rising out of bed. An impatient sweep back of the eiderdowns. Going to one’s mother’s wardrobe for covering. God what a wonderful arse she has got. And such calf muscles. Merely the shadows across such contours send the heart thumping and prick twitching. Such a damn nuisance she’s slow to take orders.

‘Thank you so much Madam. I do appreciate it. Ah not too much damage. Little coffee spilled. But in any event I have plans for the future. Now that the sea lanes are open again to America. I shall be importing the modern exotics from that land.’

‘Vas exotics I may ask.’

‘Lavatory paper as a matter of fact. I understand they have a variety which is both soft and absorbent.’

‘Ah what problems you have.’

‘Do have some coffee Madam. I indeed am going to build, as well, a high tower to this house.’

‘What, to shit down from.’

‘Please Madam, do you think we could take up discussions of that architectural utility later. You see I am inclined to imitate that fascinating gentleman William Beckford as a matter of fact. Some accounts of his travels are in the library. Indeed as is the very desk which once belonged to him. I should like, as he did, to travel widely and to return here winters to hunt. His tower was two hundred and sixty feet high. Mine will be a few feet shorter of course. There’s much loose stone about. And it would be I think nice, cementing them together to have such an edifice.’

‘Such folly would fall down on your head.’

‘Bloody hell, you are, aren’t you a barrel of enthusiasm this morning.’

‘Perhaps you would wish too by your edifice to pretend you are much high and mighty.’

‘Madam just shut up and put some honey on this barmbrack please. As a matter of fact from such a structure one could watch for poachers, trespassers and idlers.’

‘And also if commoners and peasants come too close who would not perhaps be schooled in the ways of court.’

‘You do Madam, don’t you, seem to possess a rather jaundiced view of me. I think it is the duty of a landowner such as myself to set for the peasantry an example but not especially to encourage their closeness.’

‘No it is for you and your ancestors who bring yourselves here to this country to keep the land they steal from these people so that you can prance about with noses stuck up in the air. So precious. So refined. So superior. Thinking they are something grand. When all you are is parvenu and maybe not even deserving of zee word. Now you are silent and rigid.’

‘Yes I am Madam. I am really hurt. To the quick. By your words. Which you say with a bitterness and almost hatred which would make me wonder who you consort with these days in Dublin. Here. Let me put your finger. To feel. That is my tear. That has come most genuinely out of my eye.’

‘Grosser Gott. You have, haven’t you, with so much cunning, and still so stupidly charmingly stuck up, come back into my life.’

‘Madam, may I remind you, while you are still trouncing me spiritually in the balls, that it is you who have arrived here. And come back into mine. With not so much as a warning by your leave. But of course I do not complain of that. As you do bring with you so much elegant beauty and grace. And I do so need a housekeeper again. And you ought really to be glad of my putting such a proposition to you.’

‘Who do you think you are you insolent pup. And now I shall, I really shall. Hard. Slap your face.’

Miss von B’s slap landing on Darcy Dancer’s jaw. Spinning his head around, sending coffee soaked chunks of chewed barmbrack across the room. Dishes clattering on the tray. The sting sinking deep in one’s face. My how marvellously strong she is. Astonishing how in spite of seeing stars, it trembles one’s prick into instant rigidity. With a desire flushed from scalp to toe to plunge it into her. And recall out upon yesterday’s afternoon, looking up beyond her shoulder into the western sky. The grey clouds unloading their showers of rain. And then just above the horizon, the newest of new moons luminous white against a sliver of egg shell blue. Crescent of hope so needle sharp and bright. Perhaps amid catcalls and jeers not everything was to be continuous unglamorous gloom in one’s life. That a world could begin all new again. After a war. Streets of cities to be walked. Arms held wide in joy. Singing. Windows opening to listen. Gwendolene. My Miss von B. Are you now my first armful of supreme good luck. Grabbed and held. In the embrace of your glorious golden squirming body. Your so soft tongue darting, digging down against one’s neck. Pressing between one’s lips and down one’s throat. And yet. Dear me, in the ways of women, one does sometimes feel like some filthy rich foxhunting novice arrived out in the field in the latest gear, and standing out like a sore thumb. A memorable monument to ostentation. And then on the most magnificently groomed horse, taking the first fence, and flying head over heels to splash spreadeagled in a drain full of the most moistly fresh cow flop. Face first. The Marquis did say his pop might sensibly now hang up his old testicles to dry. While one’s own still moist balls have suffered such glooms. Hanging lonely. Waiting and waiting. In great yearning groans. To anoint in her silky loins some suitably desirous lady. Even the unsuitable. So desperate was one. Nearly chewing one’s nails, which I don’t, but pacing the carpet in front of the fire. Long months of one’s flesh uncaressed by another hand. Mouldering untouched. And now feel her body. Rise up like a tide in an ocean. To deliriously drown. Enfolded in the musk of her. And in my brain holding Leila. Stretched upon thy body I lie crucified. And whom shall I ask. To walk with me. Upon the world’s boulevards. If I asked you, Leila. To waltz with thee. Make thee laugh. Would you. The foreign streets. Hands tight entwined. Hearts alive with gaiety. Would you. Waltz with me. Leila. And yet. One does swear never again to make an assignation. To be there waiting. And that they might not come. Never to see one. Even by binoculars. So lonely crushed. Just before one stamps one’s foot and says to hell with everybody. Yet you do. You do go seek them again. Her voice. And this voice. Gwendolene. O Darcy Dancer come into me. Push the prow of your ship deeper and deeper into these waters. Sail upon me. Tell me my name. Say your joy screaming aloud. Slap my palms upon your thighs. Say that you do.

Into all

My throats

You bring

A load

Of love

To pour