The Beastly Beatitudes of Balthazar B

7

The day following the great night storm in the wild year of weather which sent tiles clattering from rooftops and the belfry from the village church, Beefy made his usual speedy mission through the woods to post uncensored letters to the outside world, Balthazar running behind the heels of this chunky stalwart engine puffing the way over fallen branches, threading through bramble patches and looking back to smile encouragement to Balthazar.

And they came to the rustic shelter of pine boughs round a tree. There was a whimper and happy bark and wagging tail of little black and white Soandso. Tethered to the tree trunk jumping and licking in the piles of straw. Beefy with his jar of water, cheese and bread. And great grin as he withdrew from beneath his sweater and shirt two thick lamb chops.

"These are choice loin. They were for Crunch's supper. He will be most annoyed.'

Beefy patting Soandso on the head as he growled over his dinner. He said goodbye be a good dog, and waved back as they crossed into a haunted plantation of great ancient oaks. Black shadows of ravens high in the tree tops. Their low throated cries, strange cocking of heads and gleaming eyes. Through a thicket of rhododendrons. Until suddenly they stepped out on the village road near a cozy thatched cottage buried in roses and bramble.

"That's where Mrs. Twinkle lives. She's very nice. When Fm away on holidays she takes in Soandso. Makes him awfully fat. He gets healthy quickly again when he's back in the woods. We're invited to tea. Hers are the yummiest of scones in all of England."

With a grin Beefy pushed his letters into the red post box set in the wall. Ducking back off the road they crossed a field 38 and entered a gate and along a grassy path through rows of moisture silvered cabbage leaves. Beefy knocking at the rose bowered door. The bright orange seeds against the crumbling stone.

Inside this low roofed room a fire crackling, Mrs. Twinkle's moist eyes as she scurried about setting tea. Balthazar scooping up spoons of jam and biting through white fluffy hot scones to taste the sweet melting butter. Beefy went to the piano. His stubby little fingers rippling across the keys, his light voice raising slender music as he sang O For The Wings Of A Dove. And what nannie told in all the little evening whisperings or when we watched out or walked along the Channel shore. She said in the grey heavens over England it rains on a quiet and contented land.

"Mrs. Twinkle thank you so much for having us."

Outside warmed with late sunlight red and gold through the trees. Mrs. Twinkle, grey head and black garments at her back door. The thin white hand raised to wave. The two little friends set off again through the woods. Gaily crossing a grassy valley and along the river. Beefy putting his finger on the small paw prints in the mud round a badger hole on the side of a hill. Through the beech wood and crouching along the edge of the golf course. They swung hands and whooped. And Beefy announced.

"I do believe Balthazar that I know how to butter up old ladies."

Ahead stood the high wall of the kitchen garden. And at the giant yew tree Beefy scrambled up the twisting trunk pulling Balthazar behind. On top of the garden wall balancing. A hole in the branches of spreading boxwood tree below. Together hand in hand they jumped. Into this brief darkness. And to get up from their knees into the clutching waiting arms of Crunch and Slouch.

Light quick hearts and ashen faces. Led between the lettuce and onion beds carefully tended for masters' evening salads. Up the back stairs in the awful silence. To the dormitory to wash. Back down the great staircase. Where the strange blood red spilled from the stained glass window. Their feet making this terrible noise on the boards. Of doom and disaster. Of God nowhere to be seen. Of nann@e and her soft hair to let me rest my cheek when I weep.

"Don't be frightened Balthazar. I will do the talking.'

"Stop that whispering number sixty four.' In this dim panelled waiting room at the end of the long hall. Sofa seats and tables stacked with the school magazine. Famous old boys on the wall. The cricket and rugby elevens. Voices behind the dark oak door. Opening now. And the grim face of Slouch.

"All right sixty four and fifty seven, come in. Beefy hands out of your pockets.'

In the big room windows facing east and south. An oar high up across the wall above white shelves of bookcases. Framed parchments and degrees. Silver framed photographs on the desk of thin dark figures at a Palace Garden Party.

"Stand there. Hands behind backs. Well now this is a pretty little pitch isn't it. I said hands behind the back sixty four. Now then we have some items. Item one. You recognise this Beefy, sixty four."

"I think so sir."

"Do you pr don't you."

"I think I do. Sir."

"It would appear to be your diary. Is it."

"Could you hold it a little aside sir, the sun's in my eyes."

"Is it."

"I could be mistaken sir."

"O you could, could you. Trifle with me, will you. It is your diary. Let that fact be clearly established. And it's utterly despicable and odious."

"It is the truth."

"Quiet sixty four, answer when spoken to and not before."

"Sir I should be allowed an answer to your slander."

"Shut up. How dare you. We're only at the beginning of this interrogation. Slander indeed. How would you know the meaning of such a word."

"I do sir."

"Shut up."

"You are being uncommonly rude sir."

"I said shut up you little devil. Six strokes of the cane for every uncalled for remark. Now then. Mr. Crunch, let us proceed, you are a witness. And sixty four I wouldn't try the tricky if I were you. Upon his return from Swindon, the headmaster shall have this matter put before him for action. I shudder to think all this is taking place during the funeral of the headmaster's mother. Now then. This is your diary. Answer me, you are a masturbator."

"Yes indeed sir."

"You admit it."

"Yes sir."

"When did you begin this foul practice."

"As soon as I was able sir."

"When was that."

" I don't know sir, ever since I can remember. It has been spontaneous with me sir. It has always felt nice to pull upon sir."

"Take that down verbatim, Mr. Crunch. Now then. Do you deny it was you who chalked up the legend I am the vast masturbator on the blackboards of this school."

"Not me sir."

"Ha, not me sir, yet, page fourteen of your diary. Let me refresh your memory a bit. September 2yth. Tonight successfully succeeded in the deed. What did you mean by that. On the next morning following that entry each classroom blackboard had the said legend writ upon it."

"Sir you would allow there are many masturbators at large in this school who may have wanted to give utterance to their feelings."

"Pretty speech sixty four. Very pretty. Cunning and eloquence combined. But we're only beginning here. And you fifty seven. Shame on you to seek out such a bad companion. Of course you are a foreigner. What have you got to say for yourself."

"Nothing sir."

"Just as well. Now then. It has been established here.

Firstly, that you are the author of the legend I am the vast masturbator."

"Begging your pardon sir. The legend to which you refer as having been written on the blackboards of this school was I am the magnificent masturbator.'

"Magnificent, vast, what difference does it make. Pure pornography all of it."

"I would respectfully explain sir that there is a large difference between a vast and a magnificent masturbator. And it would be prudent if you got your facts correct."

"Six strokes of the best for that daring piece of insolence. Now then. Secondly. Stealing from the kitchen."

"I deny it sir."

"Liar. You are a liar. Mr. Crunch's two lamb chops are missing. Their disappearance not unremarkably coinciding with your absence. Your brazen effrontery is almost beyond belief. What is the motto of this school sixty four."

"Clean hands, candor and godliness sir."

"And what would you say your slippery shabby little hands have been up to."

"Perhaps no good sir."

"Quite. For once we have the truth. Too late of course to outweigh the numerous lies. Mr. Crunch have you any questions you'd like to put before I go on."

Crunch sat in his leather chair. His shoulders slumping about him. The four corners of his gold silk handkerchief drooping from his jacket pocket. Hands folded gently in his lap. And with a strange tremor to see moisture collecting over his eyes as he slowly shook his head back and forth.

"Very well. Now then. Masterdon, eighty four, claims to have seen you, sixty four, abroad outside the grounds of this school. Which is absolutely forbidden."

"What was Masterdon doing outside sir."

"You may ask that question. He had leave to purchase his weekly fruit from the greengrocer, that's what he was doing."

"It would appear sir you have me dead to rights."

"Appear. We have indeed got you dead to rights sixty four. I understand your grandmother is your guardian and you are an orphan. What happened to your parents may I ask. I think these are questions quite pertinent under the circumstances. Speak up.'

"My mother was killed in a hunting accident sir. My father took to drink as he loved her very much. He drank his estate sir and died from an onslaught of creditors.'

"You don't die of creditors.'

"Yes you do sir. My granny refused to help him and she is very rich sir. I put the shilling in the gas meter sir."

"What are you talking about."

"My father sir. He gassed himself in an oven in a room in Glasgow. Overlooking the traintracks to Edinburgh, sir. I was but a mite then. He gave me the shilling to put in the meter in the hall. My father locked me out of the room. And he was dead when the police came."

"Are these lies sixty four, are you having us on."

Crunch put his head down into his open hand propped by an elbow on the leather arm rest. He made a long sigh. Slouch removed his spectacles and pulled a nose cloth from his sleeve and ran it back and forth on the glass. Crunch's flat voice.

"He speaks the truth, Mr. Slouch."

"I see. All right. Both of you can stand at ease. Of course it is very sad. There is no question about that. None. But if we were to let sentiment intrude upon justice where would we be. Where would we be sixty four."

"I guess up to our necks in injustice sir."

"Yes, well that's one way of putting it. Let's get on. Your granny, sixty four, is she your father's mother."

"No sir, she is the mother of my mother."

"In short then, your father's mother in law."

"Yes sir and she was most cruel to him sir."

"That may be. Our concern now is that your grandmother will be taking up this matter."

"No sir. She will not. As she has little to do with me. She lives very north in Scotland where the Romans never conquered. My trustees will. They are in London. And they will be alarmed sir.'

"And so they should be. And pray what are they trustees for."

"My mother's father sir built ships. And his ancestors before him. They built many of the ships sir, which defeated the Spanish Armada.^"

"To be sure. I think we may be getting slightly off the point here.'

"No we're not sir."

"What do you mean."

"I mean sir, my trustees who administrate my fortune were going to leave a packet to the school."

"What. Mr. Crunch, what do you know about this."

"I'm afraid not very much Mr. Slouch. I do know of sixty four's trustees however. Two of them visited the school a year ago."

"They were sir to hold the sum in escrow pending my passing out successfully from the school."

"Escrow, escrow. Do you even know what the word means."

"It's from the old French sir, escroe. A bond or roll of writings."

Balthazar with half lifted right hand moistening his lips and leaning into the hollow late sunlight.

"That is true."

"You keep quiet fifty seven. One of you talking is quite enough. Of course we all know sixty four you're head of your form. It would appear we have two little budding barristers here. What. But I am quite satisfied sixty four that you are at the moment seizing upon an opportunity to weave a new web of lies. And when this little matter is res judicata you can reflect upon it when pleading someone's case in Chancery."

"Upon my word of honour sir, my trustees are very powerful sir."

"Word of honour. O we are foxy aren't we sixty four. Very very foxy. Do we think we are foxy sixty four."

"I am not foxy sir. I have merely stated that should I be sent down it would make my trustees look with displeasure upon the school.^"

'Threats, eh. This school has long been quite nearly a living facsimile of Debrett. And such as you, bragging about and tabulating your vile pollutions. And most inglorious of all, two commoners breaching the school rules, its very codes, thieving.'

'Tray sir, my friend Balthazar has never thieved and it was I who led him off the school grounds and he did not know he was out of bounds.'

"Well now we finally have a confession. One wonders where I'd be without a witness here. Two commoners indeed.'

"Nobility sir has never prevented an Englishman from ratting. And pray sir, I am listed in Debrett."

"Are you indeed. Sixty four you will be amused to know that it so happens that we possess a copy of Debrett. What about that. Just behind you there, Mr. Crunch, at the end of the shelf. O I don't think we have quite finished here, not by a long chalk. Trustees. Armada. Packet. Packet of lies. That's your packet. Ah thank you, Mr. Crunch. Now sixty four under whose nobility do we enquire for you."

"Sir if it is the most recent edition."

"It is."

"I am listed fourth line from the bottom page 362 sir."

Sound of groaning horsehairs unflexing as Mr. Crunch shifted position. The long trailing whistle of a curlew out across the grasses. Now the month when the last of all the swooping swallows are gone. And Beefy through the night times said hear Balthazar, that hoot is the little owl and that shriek is the barn owl and they'll be grabbing up the rats and forest mice.

"Hmmmm. I see. Well. One hesitates to think what you will do should you ever get the title. Being that we have it already that you are an inveterate masturbator. And do tell us, the entry is missing for last week. How many times."

"Twenty one. Twenty three if we include up to lunch time today. Sir.' "Are you treating it as some distinction, flaunting it at us. A low habit that saps the energy of life, the spirit of the soul.' "Sir last year my average was only eighteen a week.' "I suppose we enter that little score as mitigation."

"Sir in the military manual it provides that troops must masturbate to prevent undue familiarity developing."

"Who the bloody hell has filled you with all this nonsense. I've served eleven years in the Thirty Fourth Poona Horse.

That's simply not on. You are grossly impertinent."

"My tutor sir, told me so. He served in the Indore Mounted Escort, sir."

"And what else did he tell you. That gross indecency was the order of the day. He's bogus, tell him that for me, your tutor indeed. Impertinent, I think evil is the word for you. Forgive my shouting Mr. Crunch, one doesn't take slander of one's regiment lightly."

"Do you think we should adjourn for tea Mr. Slouch."

"I'm not quite finished yet with these two."

"Sir I may not be the most splendid person in the kingdom. But I am not evil. Nor am I impertinent. My granny's butler Swithins said that a bit of irreverent cheekiness was becoming in boys under ten sir, whereas the same behaviour might be perfectly insulting in one older. I have some fine qualities sir. Which you may not recognise as worthy. But I shall grow up and serve England and do my duty to the best of my abilities sir. I have the finest voice in the school choir. My ancestors have hewn and used the adze. And one day sir, when I am of age and come into my fortune I will buy up this whole area and blow up this school with dynamite."

"Pretty speech. Quite nervy. Very nervy."

"Into smithereens, sir."

"Smithereens. Well you might use such an Irish word. Typical of idle talk. You bumptious little boy. You don't dare stand there thinking for a second that you intimidate myself and Mr. Crunch who, if my memory serves me, has ridden 46 horse, Third Dragoon Guards. Eh Mr. Crunch. Blow us all up. Bit of military megalomania. Only thing can be said in your favour is you possess such a blatant disregard for caution in your remarks that you give amusement. You little rascal. Who put the eels down the bath drains. And let loose the toads in the faculty room. As per your diary, you threatening little rogue. Well we've got it all down here. A nice little interrogatory. And you French boy. Fifty seven. What have you got to say for yourself.'

"I am Beefy's friend.'

"Are you indeed. And you want to be sent down with him I suppose.'

"Yes sir.'

"And what do we know about you. An orphan too, perhaps."

"I do not have a father, sir."

"No father. Strange. How did you get here."

"I am here sir."

"With no father. Slow of mind. You don't follow me. And I'm not about to argue concerning your immaculate conception, dear boy."

"Mr. Slouch, should we not adjourn. It's time for the boys' tea."

"Indeed. A little solitary on bread and water would seem more appropriate. But I think we can wind this up. Yes. Sixty four, you're down for eighteen strokes of the cane. A further six of the very best to be added to the original twelve for threatening to blow us to smithereens. And don't think sixty four you'll be sent down before this justice is administered. Six strokes every other day, with a day's reflection between. That'll keep your bottom busy. And fifty seven pray tell what's your past."

"I am a Catholic sir."

"Good God, that bunch. Romish doctrine. Purgatory, pardons, reliques. Surely you realize it's not grounded upon any warranty in scripture. Whole thing is repugnant to the word of God. There is no popery here. Although we shall respect your beliefs. Well we know Mr. Crunch has striven to keep discipline in our midst. And we shall have gone a long way along the road when sixty four departs. But you, fifty seven shall not be let off so easily. Your mother shall be informed and we shall suggest keeping you here. To make an Englishman of you. Sixty four, prepare to pack your things. Be ready to vacate. The headmaster upon this report will decree your further presence in this school as no longer desirable. Smithereens. No wonder there are no dart boards in Irish pubs. And sixty four just let me conclude by telling you yours is the most remarkable exhibition of brazenness and insolence it has ever been my unpleasant duty to witness in this school in the seven years I've been here. Shirtyness is simply not in it. It's been cavalier villany all the way.'

"Pray sir, forgive me."

"Forgive you."

"Sir, and allow me another chance."

"You have the barbaric effrontery to stand there and beg for mercy."

"Sir. Thou hast given me the defences of thy salvation, thy right hand also shall hold me up, and thy loving correction shall make me great. Psalm Eighteen sir."

"I damn well know what psalm. And they shall cry, but there shall be none to help them, yea even unto the Lord shall they cry, but he shall not hear them. Also Psalm Eighteen."

"By every indication sir, I am therefore completely buggered." "I should not use that word if I were you."

"May I interrupt Mr. Slouch and say something."

"Do by all means."

"Beefy. Please remember, although you are sent down from this school, I am sure headmaster will give you the benefit of certain discretions which will not unduly reflect upon your future and you can make a fresh start."

"But sir if I'm flung out, my trustees will blow a gasket."

"You are not yet nine, your trustees surely will consider your age.'

"Sir I am nine years, eight months, two weeks, one day, four hours and twenty two minutes."

Slouch tapping his pencil on his paper. The sun a great ball of red sinking and lighting up the edge of clouds in pink. All the lonely corridors, the bleak classrooms, the morning and evening dormitories now threatened to be taken away can suddenly become like home.

"One would think, sixty four, you were twelve to listen to you. I wonder do you know that your redeemer liveth."

"Yes sir, I know that my redeemer liveth. I know it."

"And you fifty seven."

"Sir I think that he may too, liveth. My ancestor was the author of the catechism, the Christian doctrine by way of question and answer drawn chiefly from the express word of God and other pure sources."

"Good Lord, one constant stream of surprises."

Slouch raising eyebrows high and Crunch reaching into his pocket to withdraw a small rosewood silver embellished casket. Opening it with a click. Pinching out snuff and putting it up into each nostril. Sniffing and fanning his gold silk hanky beneath his nose. The sun blotted away and the sky darker, tumbling great grey clouds over the deep thickening blue. A bell clanging. And another gently off in the distance from the village church. How so much fear treads where all for miles is moist grass meadows, river and woods.

"Well Mr. Slouch, perhaps, if there's nothing further. I have a bell ringing engagement at village church, and some essays to correct before dinner."

"Yes. Well I think we've concluded this matter. By the way you have traipsed mud in upon headmaster's carpet. Now both of you get out. And after prayers, sixty four, you know where to be."

"Before I leave sir, I ask you give back my diary."

"It's evidence."

"It's mine sir. And you must give it back to me."

"O we will be keeping this little document. As an example to other boys who may be like minded. And after your trustees have given it sufficient and adequate perusal."

"You can't keep it, it's mine sir.' "I most certainly can keep it. School property."

"I bought it with my own pocket money. You cannot keep it."

"Don't you raise your voice to me."

"It is my copyright property sir."

"O we are a clever little boy aren't we."

"Common law sir. My trustees will sue you, sir."

"More threats eh. More uncalled for cleverness. We've come upon a very large cuckoo as is sometimes hatched in a poor little torn tit's nest. I'm so glad to have Mr. Crunch here to witness your display of legal knowledge, I'm sure no one would believe it. I think perhaps I'd better ring for Mr. Newt the school secretary. Get this all down on paper."

"You are afraid of me sir."

"How dare you assume that. Certainly not."

"Respectfully sir, it would be as well if you were. Because previously you have had me dead to rights. But upon my word sir I will tell my trustees to sue you to return my diary. And they are, two of them, solicitors."

"Mr. Crunch, go immediately and fetch Mr. Newt please."

"Mr. Slouch surely we're letting this matter get out of hand. Can't we take a sporting view. I think as a matter of fact that Beefy indeed is within his rights to demand the return of his diary. It is a personal document."

"And I am sadly apt to feel the ruddy little book is unlawful." "No Mr. Slouch."

"What. Gross indecency with others is not unlawful. Come come."

"I think that is a bit extreme of you Mr. Slouch, his diary does not say others."

"I'm sure there've been others. Frivolities, invitations to bed with bigger boys. Things I hardly yet dare speak of. Unnecessary handling about each other in the rugger scrum. And in the baths."

"Mr. Slouch I can't feel we should pursue this melancholy line. There is no one in this school who takes a poorer view of smutty talk and behaviour than I do. And indeed I have campaigned vigorously to wipe out any evidence of it. But it is a question of the boy's property. I mean we must not get into a lather of hysterics here."

"I'm in no lather I assure you Mr. Crunch. I also happen to be deputy headmaster."

"O dear no one is usurping your authority Mr. Slouch."

"I should hope not."

"But if you shoot off a chap's kneecaps I hardly think there is point in putting bullets in his liver."

"What on earth do you mean Mr. Crunch."

"I think you're being unnecessarily harsh. And somewhat unfair. Indeed they were my lamb chops and had Beefy asked I would have given them to him with the greatest of pleasure.

The boy's been punished quite sufficiently. And damn it, if you want the truth I think you're being a bully."

"That's quite enough from you Mr. Crunch."

"And I may add a blackmailer. By threatening to keep this boy's diary."

"Do I hear you correctly Mr. Crunch."

"You most certainly do, Mr. Slouch. This boy Beefy here, and I don't know the other boy sufficiently well, but Beefy is one of the most brilliant boys ever to set foot in this school. Indeed I should not be at all surprised if one day this school were remembered only for the fact that he was briefly here."

"Good Lord I won't believe my ears."

"Well you'd better believe this then. Unless the boy's diary is returned to him prior to his leaving this school, I personally will get in touch with his trustees. Good day."

This tall thin elegant man. His sad face hardened with knotted muscles across his cheeks. Standing glaring at Slouch. And reaching to grasp up the great thick red volume of Debrett and banging it closed between his hands. With a sudden gigantic heave sending the noble tome crashing across the room against the shelves. The oar above clattering down. Slouch raising his arms to shield his face from the descending trophies. And one last, an ancient cricket bat, hanging askew by a shredded crimson thread, fell at the slam of the door.

Beefy with a pump of elbow into Balthazar's ribs. Brief grins and eyebrow twitching on the faces of the wide eyed little boys. Slouch slowly stands. Smiles fade. And Beefy, his mouth open drawing in his breath and raising a hand slowly to point at Mr. Slouch as he leans forward on arms pressed astride on the desk.

"Sir. Your flies are open."

Slouch with a shiver straightening

Slouch with a shiver straightening up. Quick nervous fingers tugging and pulling and buttoning. A red rage steaming at his temples. Beefy clutching Balthazar by the hand. Retreating backward towards the door. As the words come hissing out of Slouch's teeth.

"You two get out of here before I kill you."

Balthazar turned the crystal handled knob and pulled open the heavy door. Beefy glancing behind and pushing Balthazar forward. The door slamming. And they ran pounding down the wax gleaming hall.

It is

The random

Accumulation

Of triumphs

Which is

So nice.