The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

13

Balthazar B stood in slippers and the lower half of pink pyjamas at his marble washstand and slapped up water to rinse his soapy face. A time to look out across the square as students collect for classes in the arts. And the plane trees hang out wild writhing winter branches.

To go to this large garage out in the back mews reaches of south Dublin. For the purchase of a motor car. The proprietor wiping his hands in a petrol soaked rag. And with a quick little nod of the head, he smiled and was willing to please.

"Now what did you have in mind sir.'

''I am not quite sure.'

"Is it for the touring. Or town. Or the back and forth.^"

"Back and forth.'

"Now let me ask you one question. Would you ever be wanting to be out on the road and in an awful need to get somewhere fast without much let or hindrance. Answer me that. And I may be able to help you. Without putting your mind through the torture of a lot of choices.'

"That's quite possible."

"Now I can't promise a thing, but you know I think that you're the man I've been waiting for. A gentleman who's ready and able for them wide open spaces. And who's got the glint of the sportsman in the eye. Am I right."

"I'm not quite sure."

"O I'm right, I know I'm right. I know a keen man when I see one. Can't I tell by the cut of your cloth there, aren't you a man for the wide open spaces."

"I really want a motor to reach the race courses."

"Ah, now, am I glad you said that. Baldoyle, Leopardstown, the Curragh. I knew it. And you'll make the twenty four miles to Punchestown in twenty minutes flat. I'm telling you that. Just let me show you something now. Come along here this way. Of course I should have known you were a racing gentleman. It's written all over you. Now here we are.'

"My God.'

"O now just you wait till you see this. Just you wait. Just swing back these covers. Ah, I want you to take a long look at this now. What about that. It's the greatest four wheeler ever seen in Dublin. It would pull two hundred protestant donkeys backwards from Glasnevin to Rathgar and they desperate to get to Belfast away from the pope. Just have a look now will you, under the bonnet. Have a look at this now. Twelve of your cylinders. Ready and willing. Each the size of a man's thigh. With sparkplugs to match. Climb a hill as steep as the back of your head there and it be only in neutral gear.

Commodious."

"It's awfully big."

"Let that be no deterrent. What would a keen racing man such as yourself do out on the highway without the little extra room for the lady perhaps. Heh heh. And sure you wouldn't want to be shouldered off the road. There's a bunch of them now, shopkeepers and publicans, motorists they call themselves if you please, out on the roadway of a Sunday. Let me tell you, they'll give you no trouble when they see this man here coming at them I assure you."

"Does it go."

"Does it go. You're asking me. Does it go. Get up there now. Ah that's a good one. Does it go. That's it now, are you right. Get yourself steady. Does it go. Sure do you see this little black button here now."

A deep growling whirring and a sudden explosion. A great white cloud of exhaust. As the massive machine rumbled and throbbed and slowly moved forward.

"Goodness."

"Does it go. It wasn't called a Landship for nothing. You out there Mick, clear the doors and make way in the road outside, we're coming out. Sure I'll give you a little tour right round Merrion Square north east south and west. Are you right."

The Landship securely moored now below the window.

The great long black chassis on the tall wooden spoked wheels. Horace each morning cheerful standing at the water pump filling his bucket quietly contemplating the Landship.

Stopping by it and slowly wagging his head.

"Ah sir, I can't get over it. I measured it three times meself and was telling the lads it was twenty two and a half feet in length as the crow flies and not a man of them would believe me. Ah it must be a grand powerful feeling to be rolling along in that yoke. Sure you'd need your own petrol station to keep it fed."

With breakfast laid out. A pint of cow's milk in a bottle. A fire smouldering in the grate. The chill wind comes whistling in round the tall windows. One sits rubbing bluish hands.

And cupping tightly the warm green bowls of tea.

And always to have to get up from one's chair and cross to the fireplace and stand pushing knees into the smoke. And pumping the bellows to bring a red glow to the silvered ends of turf. Feet damp and cold. Then try to remain calm as the intestines will not. To grab one's long motoring coat from the door. And copy of last night's Evening Mail and head for the bog.

Each step along the cold street. Must hold on till I get there. Past the college Printing House. A pile of leaves blown up against a corner of its steps. Its blackened empty alcoves.

In there the mystery of the exams turning over on the presses.

Through this broken three quarter door. Walk down the row of crappers. Seats torn off. Newspapers flying. Cold stone cubicles. The wind blows. As all of one's white body cries out for warmth. And count each day how many steps. All the way here. One hundred and thirty eight of them. To bravely now.

Undo a buckle, open flies. Lower garments and unleash the backside to the shivering breeze and icy seat. Take a deep breath. And hope that after all the many mornings one could not budge the spirit to move out in the rains, that on this less inclement day the soul will shift the burden. Or surely simply break the arse.

But two more days till this one desperate morning. Six A.M.

in the cold bed. A great churning through the intestines. Of an evening's reverie over sea foods and stout. One rushed for motoring coat and down the stone steps to mount the Land-ship. And set the monstrous engine throbbing. To get me to the bog on time. Waking up the college. As one sailed around the square and screeched to a halt outside the long wall of water closets. The following afternoon a letter came.

Dear Mr. B,

It is not allowed for It is not allowed for an undergraduate to park a motor in College Square. Nor is it advised to set such motor running at an ungodly hour and wake those sleeping. Ample parking facilities are at the back gate of College.

I should be pleased if you could come and have tea at four this Tuesday coming.

Yours sincerely,

The College Authority

It was easier to stay irregular. And saunter down the square and through College Park to the Zoology Building. Go through the vestibule and into the centrally heated warmth. A momentary peek at the great room of museum animals. And when no one was looking quietly make for a neat mahogany water closet tucked away beyond the skulls and heads of beasts. And here with zoology notes on the knee pray again to shift the burden. Which earthworms do so easily.

Each day to sit at these high planks with their thin gently curving taps of running water. One's fellow classmates come in. Three always together, bundled up in great tweeds, Tuffy, Hinds and Byrne. They come happily larking into the room. I try so to show I'm friendly. And wished the girl in the thick grey sweater over amply nice bosoms who says, look at those three ruddy handsome fellows. Would say the same about me. With my pale silence as I wait quietly hoping someone will ask that I go for cakes and coffee out the back gate. And sit as they do gaily laughing and chatting under the great skylight of Johnston, Mooney & O'Brien's.

On this Saturday zoology practical dissection kits were slapped closed. Wait among these fellow students as we file out through the doors and down the granite steps. The cold greyness lays hold of me. They talk of a ball. A college hop. I go yes with my eyes and smile with my lips and plan to make some comment and never can. Out here now as I always am. Heading for the leviathan Landship waiting on the cinders at the back gate. To roar out past the porter's grey little lodge and towards the races.

Flags over the stand. Bookmakers wagging hands. Out here on the grassy slopes tip toeing over the churned up turf. Air moist and soft near the smell of the sea. Elbows on the paddock fence. The tight trousered figures in cavalry twill. Passing glistening haunches and snorting horses' heads blowing out twin clouds of steam. A girl in her heavy green tweed suit. A black silk scarf drawn tightly round her head. Goodness. Miss Fitzdare who has sat in class in front of me. She has dazzling blue gay eyes and leads a rather elegant chestnut mare. And she holds reins as the jockey mounts and pats the horse's neck. I could rush and say hello but can't. What would I say next.

Balthazar B put a pound on this seven to one outsider. And it won. Under purple pink and yellow colours. Pounding and steaming down the stretch by three lengths. I went to the bar and smashed back a double brandy. To buoy up one's lonely hope of a friend. Instead of figuring out the phylum chordata. Miss Fitzdare sometimes pushed the end of her pencil into her peach white cheek. And never said a word. She sat with her blue stockinged legs tucked on the cross bar of her stool. Sometimes an ecclesiastic gentleman in a chauffeured car called for her. And one unbelievable day when I accidently brushed her scalpel to the floor and picked it up? she smiled at me.

From Baldoyle I went via the heathery windy hill of Howth. To drive by these precipitous lonely houses hanging out over the sea. And then back to Dublin to dine this night. Bringing the Landship to a safe halt in the Suffolk Street. I crossed the Grafton and went in the alley by the stained glass window. Gave my coat, shooting stick and binoculars to the nice man. And climbed the stairs of this sprawling restaurant, across rooms and down again to the white tables and gleaming glass and gentle solitude in a little corner by the fire. And settled to smoked salmon, wild duck and rice eased into the spirit with wine from the vine of the Infant Jesus. To thaw the heart. And look for love. And take part in college life.

Aglow and gently tipsy Balthazar B proceeded at speed to Dalkey and back. Giving many an evening motorist a ghostly scare. And taking the breezes against the face and through the hair. To draw the Landship to a halt in front of my rooms. Fold my map, collect my binoculars and shooting stick. Reach over to turn down the handle and open the door. And hear the crunch of feet. In the darkness over there on the pebbles approaching. The College Authority. To give me what for. And the figure loomed close into the gas light glow.

'That is one very fine motor you have there."

"Thank you."

"How many horses."

"I don't know.'

"You are a very modest chap not knowing the number of horses of such a fine motor.'

"It has twelve cylinders.'

"Very sporty. Dare say it would take you over the hills and far away. In quick order.'

"Yes."

"I don't suppose you know who I am."

"No, I don't think so."

"Well I know who you are."

"Do you."

"Yes. I don't suppose you remember a little boy. A most awfully naughty little boy. Who got you in heaps of trouble.

Called Beefy."

Balthazar B looked down upon this chunky figure. Whose hand reached up and took off a wide brimmed black chapeau.

To see in the faint light a shock of carrot hair. And round smiling cheeks. This Saturday twelve o'clock midnight.

Bells ring

And seagulls

Come diving through

The dark.